  In the Algonquin tribe, Masequah had grown to manhood through the many winters and summers that his tribe lived in peace. He was a very tall, strong and good-looking Indian brave. He was bravest of all in battle, a good hunter, and a good husband to his wife, Senan, and their son, Pyan. Masequah was very proud of his son. As the baby grew, his mother no longer had to carry him upon her back. Soon Masequah was able to walk hand in hand with Pyan through the forest. As his son grew older, Masequah began to train him for manhood. One day Masequah and Pyan stepped into a canoe and paddled across the wide lake to look for berries and nuts. Pyan was now seven years of age, and his training had begun in earnest. While they were on the other shore, a great storm arose, and the wind brought huge angry waves to the lake. Masequah feared that their light canoe would be broken by the waves. He told Pyan that it would be much safer to stay where they were until morning. They found a small cove that would give them some shelter. Then they started hunting for food, while the rain beat down on them. Pyan spotted two rabbits, and his father shot both of them. Then they went back to the cove, found dry wood, and built a fire to cook the rabbits. Masequah and Pyan settled themselves as comfortably as they could for the long night. The winds began to blow even harder and the rain began to fall more heavily. Pyan snuggled closer to his father’s side to keep warm. As the warrior looked at his son, he saw fear in his son’s eyes. Masequah had taught his son that Indians were never afraid, but suddenly he realized that lessons were not enough. Even an Indian needed to understand the thing he feared in order to drive fear away. “Don’t be afraid, Pyan,” he said kindly. “The rain that falls around us brings strength to food we have planted and to the trees in the forest. At the worst, it can only wet us. We are too wise to battle the wind on the lake. The bright bolts of lightning could not strike us here easily in this cove, and the thunder is only a loud noise like a war drum. There is nothing to fear.” As Masequah watched his son’s face in the flickering light of the fire, he knew that his words had been of little comfort. “I want to go home,” said Pyan, “I want my mother and the warmth of my bed. I am afraid.” “Don’t be afraid, Pyan,” Masequah said, “your father is with you.” “Can you stop the lightning?” asked Pyan. “Can you stop the rain? That will stop my fear. The wind that is blowing so strong frightens me.” Masequah picked up his son and carried him to the shelter of a cave and after placing his son in the cave he said, “Wait, I shall return. I must get an answer to your questions.” Masequah walked to the edge of the lake and, facing straight into the wind, shouted, “O great storm, tell me what answers I should give my son! He is afraid and I have told him not to be afraid. The wind, the lightning, and the rain frighten him and he wants to return to his home. To try to paddle our light canoe across the rough waters of the lake could mean death for my son and me. I am not afraid to die, but my son is young and his whole life lies before him. Tell me what I can do to stop his fear. He has asked me to stop the rain and the wind. This I cannot do, but you, great storm, hear a father’s plea and blow away from our land!” Masequah shivered, for the storm seemed to be getting worse. He turned from the lake and walked back to the cave. Taking his son’s hand, he said, “Pyan, come, follow your father. We are going home.” “But, father,” said Pyan, “the winds and the rain and the lightning have not stopped. The water is rough and our canoe is light. We will be drowned.” Pyan held back as his father took his hand. His father spoke kindly and firmly: “Come, Pyan, do not be afraid. Your father will protect you.” As they reached the shore Pyan began to tremble and felt heartsick because he was cowardly while his father was so brave. Pyan stepped into the canoe and his father followed. Masequah pointed to the sky. “Look, Pyan, the sky is beginning to brighten. Now the storm will halt long enough for us to reach the safety of our village.” There was a blinding flash of lightning and a loud clap of thunder. The rain stopped suddenly, the winds died down, and the waves on the lake became calm. Masequah pushed the canoe from the shore and paddled swiftly across the lake. When they reached home, Pyan told his mother excitedly how the storm had stopped when his father ordered it to halt. Pyan’s mother turned slowly to Masequah. “My husband,” she said with wonder in her voice, “until just now as you and Pyan arrived, the storm hasn’t paused once tonight.” For many years until Masequah’s death, the members of his tribe looked upon Masequah as a brave gifted with mysterious powers. They would tell of a hunting party that had reached the lake at the same time that Masequah and Pyan had started for home; the hunters had been whipped by the raging storm while they stood on a hill top overlooking the lake; suddenly they had seen the storm stop and the lake below them grow calm; and then they had watched a small canoe, with a man and a boy in it, glide swiftly across the peaceful waters. To them it was a miracle, but Masequah knew better. Masequah would always deny that he had any mysterious powers. Over and over again, he would remind his friends that no storm covers all the earth, and that every storm has its edges just as the lake does, or like the shadow of a fleecy cloud on a sunny day. No matter how often he told them that the edge of the storm had moved away from the lake, most of his friends still insisted that it was a miracle. Even Pyan, who believed that his father was wise and truthful, sometimes wondered.
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