Stories the Iroquois Tell Their Children — A Closer Reading

There were many days when _Yeh sen noh wehs_ told her stories, but none were told in return. Few members of the tribes--these usually the oldest--could remember the stories "they used to tell."

Sometimes _Yeh sen noh wehs_ heard a story as she trudged along a furrow, beside a ragged Indian who was plowing with a more ragged-looking team. Or she would listen as she helped an Indian woman prepare the evening meal, pick berries, or gather nuts.

Sometimes, as _Yeh sen noh wehs_ sat by a fire down in the depths of a beautiful wood, and watched the smoke of the sacred medicine rise, a medicine man would tell her a story; or an Indian woman would drop a word, as she sat at her door weaving baskets or making beadwork.

These stories _Yeh sen noh wehs_ has made into a story book, that they might not be lost and forgotten; that all the Iroquois Red Children and their children's children might know and tell them, and that Paleface children might learn them as well.

The American children have no fairies of their own. They must borrow their fairies from children of other nations. _Yeh sen noh wehs_ thought it very sad, so she put a magic feather in her cap, and winged moccasins on her feet. Then she went on the chase for real American wonder stories, and for real American fairies.

Had there not been a feather in the magic cap she wore, _Yeh sen noh wehs_ would not have found them. But the feather pointed the way to the Nature Wonder Trail, and there she caught a glimpse of the "Little People,"--the only true American fairies.

All children who live close to Mother Earth come to know and to see the fairies of the flowers, the woods, the rocks, and the waters.

These fairies the Iroquois call the _Jo gah oh_, or "Little People," because they are so small. The Little People can do wonderful things. Whatever they wish, they can do. They can fly through the air. They can dart under or through the water, into the earth and through the rocks, as they please, for they wear invisible moccasins and travel in winged canoes.

Their wee babies are carried on the little mothers' backs,--just like the Indian's papoose. The little fathers have wonderful winged bows and arrows, that can shoot any distance they wish.

The Little People bring good luck to the Indians. Whatever Indian boys and girls wish for,--if they wish hard enough, the _Jo gah oh_ will bring to them.

It is said that there are three tribes of these Little People,--those that live in the rocks beside streams and lakes, those that hover near the flowers and plants, and those that guard the dark places under the earth.

The rock Little People are very strong. They can uproot large trees and can hurl great rocks. Sometimes they dare the Indians to a test of strength with them. They also like to play ball with stones.

The Red Children fear the Stone Throwers, as they call them. But they love the little folk that help the flowers to blossom, and the fruit and grains to grow and ripen.

They remember these Little People in their Feasts of Thanksgiving, for do the _Jo gah oh_ not help the sweet waters of the maple to flow? Do they not whisper to the growing seeds and show the way to the light? Do they not guide the runners of the strawberries, turn the blossoms to the sun, and paint the berries red? They also tint the grains, and give to the corn its good taste.

A third tribe of Little People dwell under the earth. They guard the sacred white buffaloes, and keep the serpent monsters that live in the darkness below from coming to the surface to the Red Children.

There are trails that lead out to the sunlight, but the Little People guard them close, although sometimes a great serpent will find the trail of a spring, and will follow it and poison the waters.

Often, at night, these elves of the dark come to the upper world to dance with the other Little People.

Wherever you find a tree in a deep, dark part of the wood, around which no grass will grow, there you may be sure a dance ring has been formed. There the Little People have danced till the moon dropped out of the sky.

The old-time Indians say that long, long ago, the Little People made a law that stories must not be told in summer.