“The news soon spread, and it was not long before Nokomis, with others, came to see the huge dead monster, and there were great rejoicings.”
“And this,” added Souwanas, “is the tradition, as told by Shuniou, of how Nanahboozhoo destroyed Mooshekinnebik.”
“What became of the little monsters?” asked Minnehaha.
“The Indians,” replied Souwanas, “under the leadership of Nanahboozhoo made such a war upon them that they were soon annihilated.”
Welcome Springtime in the Northland—How Nanahboozhoo Killed the Great White Sea Lion, the Chief of the Magicians—The Revenge—The Flood—Escape of Nanahboozhoo and the Animals on the Raft—The Creation of a New World.
The coming of the pleasant springtime was hailed with great delight. Seven or eight months were found to be a very long spell of cold winter weather, and so when with a rapidity unknown in more Southern climates the winter broke up, and the welcome warm weather made its appearance, everybody seemed to feel its genial influence.
The first little wild flowers were looked for with intense interest, and great indeed was the joy of the children when some were found. The sweet singing birds that in the previous autumn, on the first signs of the coming down from the colder North of the Frost King, had flitted away to the summer Southland were now returning in multitudes. The air was full of their melody, and as scores of them, fearless and trustful, made themselves at home in the bird resorts around Wahkiegum, great indeed was the children’s delight as they welcomed them back to their haunts in the North.
And really it did seem as though the birds were glad to be there again, for it is only in the North that these birds sing their sweet love songs to each other and build their nests and hatch out their little broods.
The Whisky Jacks, that had been croaking out their hoarse cries all winter, seemed to get sulky and vexed that they were now so little admired, and so they flitted away farther north and buried themselves in the interior of the deepest forests.
In the joyousness of those happy days up in those high latitudes, when the changes of every twenty-four hours can easily be noticed, Sagastao and Minnehaha for a time troubled neither Souwanas nor Mary for Indian legends or stories. There was in the rapid melting of the snow, the breaking up of the immense ice fields on the lake, the appearance of the land, and then the grass and flowers, and the planting of seeds in their little gardens, enough to keep them busy and happy.