Many years ago the animals ruled the
earth. They had killed every one but a brother
and a sister. These two lived in a lodge far
away in the forest, where the animals could not find
them. The boy was a tiny, little fellow, he
had never grown any larger than a baby, so
the girl had to do all the work. Each day she
would go out into the bush and gather wood for the
lodge fire. She always took her brother with
her, for he was too small to leave alone. A
big bird might fly away with him.
One day she gave him a little bow
and arrows, and said, “You stay here while I
take the wood home. When the snow-birds come
to get the worms out of the wood, see if you can shoot
one.” So she went home and left him.
He did not come until nearly evening. He looked
very sad and tired, for he had been unable to shoot
even one bird.
“Never mind,” said the
sister, kindly. “Try again to-morrow.”
The next day he went again with her,
and when he came back in the evening, he said, “I
shot this bird, and now, sister, strip the skin off
it, stretch, and cure it. Then when I have killed
enough birds, I shall have a coat made of the skins.”
At last when he had ten skins, his sister made him
a coat of them. He was so tiny that it fitted
him nicely. Of course he was very proud of it.
One day he said, “Sister, is
there no one living in this world except ourselves?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Many miles from here live the animals we are
afraid of. But never go near their village, for
they will kill you.”
“Oh, I am not afraid,”
he said; and in spite of all her coaxing he made ready
to go on his journey.
One morning he set out, and by noon
had walked quite a distance. He felt very tired
and threw himself down on a plot of grass where the
sun had melted the snow. He fell asleep, and
while he was lying there the hot sun dried the skins
of his bird coat. When he awoke, he felt as
though he were buttoned up in a coat much too small
for him.
He was very angry at the sun, for
he knew it had done this. “I shall punish
you,” he cried up to it. “You think
you are so high up there, and I am so small, that
you do not care, but I shall show you.”
Then he went home to his sister and
showed her the coat, and told her all about it.
She begged him not to feel so angry. He would
not listen to her, but went and lay down on the bed.
For ten days he stayed there without eating a bite.
Then he turned over on his other side and lay for
ten days more.
At last he arose and said, “Sister,
please make me a snare. I want to catch the
sun.” She told him she had nothing with
which to make the snare. He nearly cried when
she said this. Then she remembered some bits
of deer sinew that were in the lodge. She made
a snare of this, but he said, “That will not
do,” and began to cry again. Then she
asked him if her hair would do.
“No, it will not,” he said.
“Well, I have nothing else,”
she told him, and went out of the lodge. She
thought and thought, and at last she said to herself,
“I shall use my hair, and perhaps he will never
know.” So she made a snare like the one
used to catch moose. When she took it in to him,
and asked, “Will this do?” he looked very
pleased, and said, “Oh, yes, that is the very
thing.” He took it, and drew the threads
through his lips. They changed at once into
red, metal cords, which he wound around his waist.
Then he made ready for his journey,
and about midnight he set out. He walked on
for a long time, until he came to the spot where the
sun came up. He fixed the snare, and then hid
behind some bushes.
In a little while the sun began to
rise, and was at once caught in the snare.
The animals, who ruled the earth,
were greatly excited because the morning did not come.
They knew it was time for the sun to be up, so they
called a council.
“What is to be done?” asked the bear.
“Some one must go and see what has happened,”
replied the wolf.
“Let the dormouse go,”
said the beaver, “as he is the largest of us
all.”
In those days the dormouse was very
large. He looked like a mountain when he stood
up.
“Yes,” said the wolf,
“let the dormouse go. He is proud of his
size and his strength. Let him show us what
he can do when there is danger before him.”
They all looked around for the dormouse,
but there was no sign of him.
“He thinks that we shall send
him to find the sun,” said the fox. “He
is afraid and has hidden himself.”
“Not so,” returned the
beaver. “The dormouse is not a coward.
Let us call him. He cannot be far away.”
With that, they all began to call
the dormouse. In a moment there was a crackling
of branches and the sound of heavy footsteps, and a
huge figure loomed up in the darkness.
“Brother dormouse,” said
the fox, “you are so brave that we have chosen
you to go in search of the sun. What is your
answer?”
“I am quite ready to go,”
replied the dormouse, “and if I cannot find
the sun and send it to you, I shall not return myself.”
At once the dormouse started towards
the sun. As he came close to it, the hot rays
began to burn his back, but he kept on, and began to
chew the cords, which bound it. In a few minutes
the top of his back was a heap of ashes, and he felt
himself shrivelling with the heat. He kept on
bravely, and at last the cords were sundered and the
sun free. But by this time the dormouse was
a very small animal, and has remained so ever since.
All this time the brother, who was
lying hidden, had been watching what was happening.
As the dormouse began to smoke, he grew a little
frightened, and when it began to shrivel he was terrified.
All he wished for was to escape from this glaring
sun, which surely would quickly consume him too.
Lying flat on the ground, he wriggled
through the bushes for a long distance along the bank.
Reaching the plain, he made a dash for home.
His face and arms were scratched and bleeding, and
when he told his sister what had happened, she was
grieved to think that she had made the snare which
had brought so much sorrow to the innocent dormouse.