The Whispering Grass
Margaret Bemister
Once, many long years ago, there was a green hill
covered with long grass, which whispered and talked as the wind blew through
it. It was the great friend of all the animals, especially the wild deer, the
gray wolf, and the fox.
One summer day the whispering grass was very excited.
The south wind had brought strange news to it, and now, as the sun rose up to
noonday, they could see this strange thing for themselves. It meant great
danger to their friends the animals, and they must send a message to warn them.
So the grass called to the butterflies, and told them to go at once to the
deer, the wolf, and the fox, and tell them to come to the green hill. Away flew
the butterflies, and soon the animals had gathered to hear what this message
might mean.
"Listen, my brothers," said the whispering
grass. "There is great danger for you this day, for across the prairie
there comes a band of hunters to take your lives."
"Hunters? What are they?" asked the animals.
"We have never heard of such things."
"They are Indians," returned the grass,
"with bows and arrows--deadly arrows that will pierce your hearts. These
hunters are very near, and once they see you they will shoot their arrows at
you, and that is your end."
"What must we do?" asked the animals.
"You are wise, whispering grass; tell us what we may do to save
ourselves."
"Go to your homes," answered the grass,
"and remain there until sundown to-morrow. If all is safe, I shall send my
messengers, the butterflies, to you at that hour to tell you to come to
me."
The animals did as they were commanded, and by the
time the hunters reached the foot of the hill, there was nothing living to be
seen but some dainty butterflies that hovered above the grass. The remainder of
that day and all the next the hunters searched for game in the hills, but not a
deer could they see, not a wolf, not a fox. In the late afternoon they returned
to their camp at the foot of the hill. They were tired and very hungry, for
they had not brought food with them, as they expected to find game.
"Let us return," said one hunter.
"There is no game in this land, and I am hungry. Let us go back to our
village."
"Not so," said the second hunter. "Let
us wait until to-morrow. Perhaps to-morrow we shall see game."
"Yes, let us wait until to-morrow," said a
third hunter, "and to-night we shall eat grass. See, yonder is a hill well
covered with grass. If the animals eat it, why can not we?"
"But it is whispering grass," said the first
hunter, in a low voice. "And he who eats of whispering grass can no longer
kill anything with his arrows."
"Not so, brother," said the second hunter.
"It is not whispering grass. Listen; there is a west wind blowing through
it, and yet we can hear no sound of whispering."
They all listened intently, and as the second hunter
had said, there was no sound of whispering. The wind was waving the grass
blades and bending them low, and not a sound came from them.
"You are right. It is not whispering grass,"
said the first hunter, "and I am hungry; let us eat."
So they all gathered many handfuls of the green grass,
and putting it into a pot, they boiled it, then gathering around the pot, they
ate the grass with much relish. Then, rolling themselves in their deerskins,
they fell asleep.
It was now the sunset hour; so, calling the
butterflies to it, the whispering grass gave them a message for the animals.
"Go to your brothers," it said, "and
tell them all is safe now; that at sunrise to-morrow morning they may come
forth from their homes and wander as usual among the hills. Their enemies, the
hunters, will try to shoot them with their arrows, but they must not be afraid,
for now these arrows can never touch them."
