tell the story to you."
So the children drew their chairs up into the firelight, and listened to this little Indian story:
"Once some little Indian children," began the mother, "gathered about the fire inside their deerskin wigwam and begged their mother for a story.
"Each little Indian was wrapped in a bright coloured blanket. Each little Indian wore long turkey buzzard feathers in his hair.
"The Indian mother looked at her baby braves proudly. She thought of the time when each of the children was a tiny papoose and swung in a deerskin cradle like a bird in its nest.
"'There was a time,' said the Indian squaw, 'when the birds had no feathers.
"'Being naked, they remained hidden among the leaves. Being ashamed they were silent, and no bird-note sweetened the stillness of the forest.
"'At last with faint chirpings the mother birds prayed the Great Spirit for blankets in which to wrap their little ones.
"'Then the Great Spirit, seeing their sorry plight,
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