And when in the morning he went to look, behold, he had caught the sun in his snare!  All that part of the earth was beginning to smoke with the heat of it.

“Is it you who made the tracks in my trail?” cried Tavwots.

“It is I,” said the sun; “come and set me free, before the whole earth is afire.”

Then Tavwots saw what he had to do, and he drew his sharp hunting-knife and ran to cut the bowstring.  But the heat was so great that he ran back before he had done it; and when he ran back he was melted down to half his size!  Then the earth began to burn, and the smoke curled up against the sky.

“Come again, Tavwots,” cried the sun.

And Tavwots ran again to cut the bowstring.  But the heat was so great that he ran back before he had done it, and he was melted down to a quarter of his size!

“Come again, Tavwots, and quickly,” cried the sun, “or all the world will be burnt up.”

And Tavwots ran again; this time he cut the bowstring and set the sun free.  But when he got back he was melted down to the size he is now!  Only one thing is left of all his greatness:  you may still see by the print of his feet as he leaps in the trail, how great his stride was when he caught the sun in his snare.

THE PIG BROTHER[1]

[Footnote 1:  From The Golden Windows, by Laura E. Richards. (H.R.  Allenson Ltd. 2s. 6d. net.)]

There was once a child who was untidy.  He left his books on the floor, and his muddy shoes on the table; he put his fingers in the jam pots, and spilled ink on his best pinafore; there was really no end to his untidiness.

One day the Tidy Angel came into his nursery.

“This will never do!” said the Angel.  “This is really shocking.  You must go out and stay with your brother while I set things to rights here.”

“I have no brother!” said the child.

“Yes, you have,” said the Angel.  “You may not know him, but he will know you.  Go out in the garden and watch for him, and he will soon come.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” said the child; but he went out into the garden and waited.

Presently a squirrel came along, whisking his tail.

“Are you my brother?” asked the child.

The squirrel looked him over carefully.

“Well, I should hope not!” he said.  “My fur is neat and smooth, my nest is handsomely made, and in perfect order, and my young ones are properly brought up.  Why do you insult me by asking such a question?”

He whisked off, and the child waited.

Presently a wren came hopping by.

“Are you my brother?” asked the child.

“No, indeed!” said the wren.  “What impertinence!  You will find no tidier person than I in the whole garden.  Not a feather is out of place, and my eggs are the wonder of all for smoothness and beauty.  Brother, indeed!” He hopped off, ruffling his feathers, and the child waited.