Julia Darrow Cowles

“ For a few days the leaves danced and whispered, laughing over their beautiful hues. Then Po-poon-o-ki came back, and with his swift, cold breath, he blew against the trees, and the little leaves were tossed and torn from the friendly branches. They did not fly up into the heavens, but frightened and sobbing they dropped to the earth.
“We shall die!” they cried. “We shall die!”
Then a strange thing happened. The guardian spirit of the tree whispered, “No, little leaves, you shall not die. You shall be changed into living forms. ”

“ And God blessed Noah and his sons. And God spake unto Noah, and to his sons with him, saying, And I, behold, I establish my covenant with you, and with your seed after you; and with every living creature that is with you, of the fowl, of the cattle, and of every beast of the earth with you; from all that go out of the ark, to every beast of the earth. I will establish my covenant with you; neither shall all flesh be cut off any more by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth. ”

“ So the Wind went away sorrowing, for he loved the Indian maiden.
The next day the maiden came to her father and said, “Father, I love the Wind better than any young warrior of our tribe. May I go to his lodge, and be his wife?”
The Chief looked at his daughter and said, “No. The Wind is no mate for you. He is no warrior. He is no hunter. He loves only to play pranks. You cannot marry him.” ”

“ Each had a white pearl in its beak, which it laid upon Blanzeflor’s lap.
“Here are the tears you shed for those who were poor and sad at heart,” they chirped; “not one has fallen in vain.”
At last came a little bird with a maimed wing; in its beak was the little crooked pearl, for this, too, had been threaded on the necklace.
Blanzeflor sat perfectly still and let the pearls lie upon her knees, for she could not touch them with her fettered hands. Then the sun rose red in the East and shone into the prison so that it streamed with light like heaven itself. ”

“ You shall have wings, and live among the earth’s people, and drink the honey of its flowers. Little flame, you shall carry the color of the fire upon your throat. You shall be known as the Humming Bird, and every child will love you. ”

“ Let the modern story be the central figure against the universal background of truth—a background which will soften its sharper outlines, and mellow its cruder tones. Preserve in the classic the classical spirit, as well as the classical form—that classical spirit which kindles the fancy and stirs the imagination. Let the hearers see their heroes through the vista of vanishing years.
Technique is a necessary part of any artistic production. Note how carefully the artist selects his brushes and prepares his palette. The story-teller should do no less. ”

“ After many moons had come and gone there came to Osseo and his wife a little son. As the boy grew he seemed brighter than the starlight, and Osseo and Oweenee loved him dearly; but his grandfather, the Evening Star, loved him best of all.
One day Evening Star said to Osseo, “You must be careful not to let the light beams from the small Star that dwells near by fall upon the cage of singing birds, or upon yourself, or your wife, or your son. The Star is an evil spirit, and the light beams are his enchanted arrows. They change the form of all those upon whom they fall.” ”

“ The Hero-Tale
As the child creates a world of fancy and, when left to himself, lives within it, so marvelous deeds and achievements are to him as the daily breath of our own lives. He imagines himself the hero of such wonderful and impossible adventures that when he is told of Phaeton and his mad ride, he accepts it with the same calm appreciation which is accorded the imaginings of his own creative moods. ”

“ IN the far back days, before the white men lived upon this side of the earth, a young Indian lad stood at the door of his father’s tepee and gazed out over the far-waving prairie grass.
He was thinking of the morrow when he would begin his fast; for this was the custom among the Indians. When a youth reached a given age he went away by himself, and for seven days he ate no food, but spent the time in prayer to the Great Spirit that his part in life might be made clear to him, and that it might prove a worthy one. ”

“ At first glance it may seem easy to decide as to the moral influence of a story, but there are differences of opinion even here, and some writers condemn unsparingly that old acquaintance of our childhood, Jack, of Bean-stalk fame, and set him down as an arrant thief and murderer whose crimes brought him riches and comfort in his old age. And the tale of Cinderella, while it can be said to cast no stain upon the character of its heroine, is condemned as leaving an impression, upon the impressionable mind of childhood, that all step-mothers are hard and cruel and unjust. ”

“ THERE was once a little Indian boy who wanted above everything else to become a mighty hunter.
His father, whose name was Ojeeg, the Fisher, was the mightiest hunter of his tribe, and Omeme wanted to be like his father.
Often he went out into the forest with the little bow and arrows which his father had made for him, to hunt the small creatures of the woods. But it was too cold for him to stay long; for in those days there were no seasons, only cold and snow day after day, moon following moon. ”

“ Father Bear let the boy watch the gorgeous spectacle until the blowing was over and the flowing and sparkling red steel had been poured into ingot moulds.
The boy was completely charmed by the marvellous display and almost forgot that he was imprisoned between a bear’s two paws.
“I call that real man’s work!” the boy remarked to himself.
The bear then let the boy have a peep at the furnace and the forge, and he became more and more astonished as he saw how the blacksmiths handled iron and fire.
“Those men have no fear of heat and flames,” he thought. The workmen were sooty and grimy. ”

“ So the young brave started out, and when he reached a bare place on the mountain side he sat down on the ground and sang his death-song while he waited.
Presently, with a terrible cry, the great Mosquito flew down with his enormous wings outstretched, and just as he buried his talons in the young warrior’s flesh, the brave youth sprang erect, threw one of the rawhide thongs about the foot of the bird and bound him to the rock.
The men of the tribe who had watched the conflict ran to the mountain side and let fly their arrows. Soon the great Mosquito lay dead upon the rocks. ”

“ Nor is the directly ethical training the greatest good achieved by story-telling in the home. Nothing else so closely links mother and child in a sweet fellowship and communion of thought. Nothing else so intimately binds them together, nor so fully secures the confidence of the child. When they enter together the enchanted realm of story-land, mother and child are in a region apart, a region from which others are excluded. The companionship of story-land belongs only to congenial souls. ”

“ When I come to the Earth, all the Earth’s children tremble. I breathe upon them, and they cry out. The trees drop their leaves. The birds fly away. The forest children creep into their holes.”
“Ah,” cried the youth, “when I come to the Earth, the Earth’s children laugh and clap their hands. I breathe upon them and they dance with joy. The trees put forth their leaves. The birds come back. ”

“ Until we feel our story we can never tell it at its best.
Not all are artists, few are great artists; but you and I may do our best toward artistic attainment, and comfort ourselves over any lack of achievement by the reflection that while only the favored few see the great masterpieces of painting, the lives of the multitude are made brighter and happier by the work of the lesser artists, who, striving against their limitations, have yet given to the world their best. ”