"Look, Mother; look at the big feather I have found. It is not like the ones in my father's war bonnet."

Good Bird took the feather and examined it carefully.

"Where did you find it, White Cloud?" she asked.

"Near the little stream that runs into the lake. Flying Squirrel and I have moved our dolls' lodges this morning."

"You must take the feather to your father at once. It may be that some enemy is planning war and getting ready to surprise our camp.

"Then you must move your dolls and their lodge near by where I can see you play. You may be in danger.

"Your father is spearing fish in the lake. Now run to him. Let no one see the feather, and do not turn aside to talk to any one like the little hare that did not mind its mother."

"When will you tell me the story of the hare?" asked White Cloud.

"Do not talk about stories now. Run along. You must not wait a minute. I will watch you all the way. Your father, I think, will come back with you."

White Cloud soon found her father. He left his fishing and returned with his little daughter.

A council of the tribe was called, for the strange feather had been dropped by no friendly Indian.

Then the medicine drum was beaten to call the people together. They were told of the danger, and there was a great stir in the village. Everything was made ready for sudden moving in case of attack. All the trained dogs were called and tied in the wigwams of their owners.

A guard of young Indians was placed on watch for the night. Fleet Deer came late to his lodge, and after eating he joined the warriors.

As nothing more could be done, Good Bird comforted her frightened little daughter by stories. Swift Elk pretended to be very brave. He did not run out of the wigwam as usual, but lay on the ground and listened to his mother.

"Now, my daughter," she said, "I'll tell you the story you asked for this morning."