Four years have passed since the summer evening when Good Bird watched her children in the firefly dance. Her son, Swift Elk, is now a tall, straight lad of eleven winters. His sister, four years younger, is a sturdy little girl, already able to help her mother in many ways.

The boy is the pride of the lodge. From his earliest babyhood he has been trained to be strong and fearless.

"Lay him very straight," his father used to say when the baby boy was placed on his cradle board. "Do not make his bed too soft. My son must grow tall and strong, for he will sometime be a great warrior."

Since he could first walk he has gone with his father each day to the lake to take an early morning bath. Like all Indians, he learned to swim when he was very small, and he loves to splash and dive and play in the water.Do you suppose that Swift Elk dresses himself after his bath? He does not think clothing at all necessary except in winter.

Does he help his mother in her work about the lodge? Never! "A boy does not do squaw's work," he says. "A boy must learn to hunt and shoot."

Is he not made to mind? Is he never punished? Oh, no; he will be a great warrior some day, and his father says he ought not to be afraid of any one. And so he lives the wild, free life of the Indian boy. He spends his day in play, with no school, no lessons, and no work to do.

When the father is at home he teaches the boy to notice very carefully everything he sees. He must learn the names of plants and birds. He must know the habits of animals and how to hunt them. Above everything, he must be brave and daring.

While the men are away hunting, the younger boys spend the day shooting, fishing, swimming, and playing games. If they wish to throw mud balls at each other, no one scolds them for being dirty. But if one of them whimpers or cries, his companions will not let him play. So the Indian boy learns early in life to bear pain without complaint.

Swift Elk's father made a little bow and arrow for his son as soon as he was old enough to run out of the wigwam. Each summer he received a larger bow and more destructive arrows.

Wherever the boy goes he carries his weapon, and he is always watching for the chance to shoot a bird, rabbit, squirrel, or any wild animal.

How his mother and grandmother praise him when he brings home game! "You will be a great hunter," they say. "Soon you will be able to go with your father to shoot bear and deer."

Swift Elk sleeps on a bed of cedar boughs covered with skins. As the first-born son, he has the place of honor. His bed is next to his father's, close against the inner lining of the lodge, and nearly opposite the entrance.

This is the boy's own place, and he is allowed to decorate it as he wishes. Birds' wings, feathers, and squirrels' tails show his skill in hunting.

Here he keeps nearly everything that he owns. He has hung his bow and arrows on the lodge pole above his bed. His snowshoes, tops, and balls are in a bag of skin high above the reach of baby hands.

Swift Elk looks forward to the time when he shall be admitted to the councils of his tribe and take part in their dances and yearly feasts.

Like other Indian children, he has been trained to count time by winters, moons, and sleeps, and so he does not know his exact age. He has never heard of keeping birthdays; but he has had many feasts given in his honor, which are the same to him as a party would be to you.

When an Indian boy wins a game which requires great skill, or shows himself brave in time of danger, his companions shout his praises.

They go with him to the door of his lodge, telling of the brave deed he has performed. Then they sing and dance in his honor.

It is expected that the women of the lodge will show their pleasure by giving each boy some dainty from the stores of food packed away for feasts.

On the day that Swift Elk first shot a rabbit his father gave a feast for him, inviting all his relatives. But the most important celebration of his whole life was when he won a victory in racing and received his name.