The boys and men went hunting every day, and the little girl was left with her stepmother, who beat her and made a drudge of her. She bore it patiently as long as she could, but at last complained to her brothers, who promised to help her. Next day the stepmother took hot ashes from the fire and burnt her in several places, so that she cried aloud. Her father came in and remonstrated, all in vain. Then he consulted the old grandfather, who expressed regret, but advised him to wait patiently, that the woman might become better in time. So the brothers and sister resolved to run away; the boys slipped out first, and waited for the girl. When she, too, escaped, they fled; but any one who looked from the hut would only have seen three young moose bounding over the snow. When the father came home, he asked for the children; his wife said they had just stepped out; but when he went to look for them, he saw the moose tracks, and knew what had happened. He at once took his snowshoes and tomahawk, and started in pursuit of them. He travelled three days and three nights, always following the tracks. Every night, he saw where they had nibbled the bark from the trees and where they had rested in the snow. On the fourth day he came to a clearing where four moose were feeding, and he knew the children had found their mother. He struck his axe into a tree and hung his snowshoes on it, then went to her and pleaded to be allowed to go with them; so she turned him into a moose, and they journeyed away together. Meantime, his old father at home missed his son and his grandchildren, and went to look for them. He travelled three days and three nights, as his son had done, following the foot-prints and the tracks until, towards the fourth night, he saw the tomahawk in the tree, with the snowshoes hanging on it, recognized them as his son’s, saw that now there were the marks of _five_ moose in the snow instead of three, and knew that he had come too late. He took down the axe and snowshoes, and went sadly home to tell the story.
These were the parents of all the moose that we see now. In old times the Indians used to turn into animals in this way.
There were once two men who lived a long way apart: one was poor and had nothing but his hunting-grounds; the other was rich, but he wanted the poor man’s land. The poor man’s poohegan, or attendant spirit, was a snake; the rich man’s poohegan was a porcupine.
