So Grey Squirrel began to wonder whether he had ever done anything which, in the eyes of the chiefs, made him unworthy. He had fought in great battles, but he had never been cowardly. So cowardice could not be the reason. He had never failed to hunt well, to keep his wigwam warm and sturdy, and to see that there was enough food for all the family. He could see no way in which he had been unworthy of the chiefs’ notice. Often Grey Squirrel would walk by the quiet stream and ponder the reason for his being a brave forgotten by the chiefs. As Grey Squirrel’s heart grew troubled, he sought the wise advice of his father, Grey Owl. One evening, he approached his father’s wigwam and asked if he might speak with him about something which tormented his mind. Grey Owl invited him into his home and they both sat cross-legged around the small fire in the center of the wigwam. There was a long period of silence and then Grey Owl spoke. “What is it that troubles you so deeply, my son? I have often watched you wander from the village to the near-by stream and sit and ponder. I have watched you return with a downcast look from the hunt or battle when you should have been joyful that your bow had proven straight and true in whatever task you set for it.” His father paused. “Speak, my son, unburden your heart to your father who has loved you and guided you from babyhood to fine young manhood.” Grey Squirrel looked long at his father and as he watched his father’s eyes, his face softened and he said, “O wise and kind father, many years I walked the forest trails at your heels carefully watching every move, imitating all that you taught me to the best of my ability. Many, many hours we spent together beneath the sheltering branches of the towering oak trees, listening with our ears to the voices of the forest. You taught me how to listen and what to listen for, so that my ears have grown very keen. Today the deer may not tread the forest floor that I do not hear, nor the rabbit scurry for cover that I cannot uncover the entrance to his home, nor the bluebird set his wings for flight that I cannot immediately see his starting place. And yet, dear father, there is one sound I have listened for and have not heard.” Grey Owl had been listening calmly to all that his young son had to say. Surprise crossed his face with his son’s last words, and then a gentle smile came upon his lips. “Tell me, Grey Squirrel, what is this sound you listen so hard for but cannot hear?”