  Why is the happy song of the robin heard beside the lodge? Why chirps the cricket so merrily? Can you not guess? There is a new daughter in the wigwam. Another wood gatherer and fire maker has come to the tribe. "Bring the new cradle, Nokomis. Let me have the beautiful cradle I have made for my little daughter." And Good Bird, the mother, points with pride to a strange-looking object that is not at all like the cradle your baby sleeps in. A straight board leans against the inner lining of the lodge. To one side of it is fastened a white doeskin bag which is trimmed with beautiful fringes and beadwork. Can this be a baby's cradle? Nokomis, the grandmother, opens the bag, which is laced down the middle with colored strings. She makes a bed of soft moss upon Laced and bound, this strange cradle is hung to the top of the lodge. A bow of curved wood protects the baby's head from injury, should the cradle fall. As the little papoose swings gently, the Indian mother sings a lullaby, and this is the one she often sings: "Wa wa—wa wa—wa wa yea, Swinging, swinging, lullaby. Sleep thou, sleep thou, sleep thou. Little daughter, lullaby. Wa wa—wa wa—wa wa." Slower and slower swings the cradle and the black eyes close in sleep. "What shall we name the little one?" asks the mother. Nokomis stands in the door of the wigwam. Through the trees she sees the blue water of the lake. White clouds are moving rapidly across the sky. Good Bird, the mother, smiles and nods. As she watches the cradle, she talks to the sleeping child. "My little woman, you shall be a fire maker and a lodge keeper like your mother. You shall help me tan the skins for clothing. I will teach you to make beautiful dresses and trim them with beadwork and quills. Your father and your brother will be proud to wear the moccasins you make. "You shall go with me to the lake when the rice is ready to harvest. Together we will hunt the wild berries and the nuts. You shall be your mother's helper, my little daughter, White Cloud." |
|
