Then he poured oil upon the wood. The fire blazed up. The
Indian put on more wood and more oil. The fire roared and
crackled.
The Ice King began to feel too warm. He moved back a little way.
The fire became hotter. The Ice King moved farther back. He began
to sweat and to grow smaller and weaker. Then he cried out, "My
friend, I am conquered. Let me go! Oh, let me go!"
The Indian arose and pushed the fire back from the Ice King. Then
he took his trembling hand, lifted him up, and led him to the door
of the wigwam.
As the Ice King passed out he said, "You have conquered me twice.
You shall always be my master."
Ever since that time men have been masters of the Ice King. When
his cold breath blows, they make the fires warmer and their
clothing thicker. [Footnote: Adapted from "The Ice Man" in Legends
of the MicMacs, published by S. T. Rand; permission to use given
by Helen S. Webster, owner of copyright.]
THE WOLF, THE GOAT, AND THE KID
"Good-by, little one," said Mrs. White Paw, the goat, to her
daughter.
"Do not go, mother, I am afraid to stay here alone," cried little
Nanny.
"But I must get my dinner or you will have no milk for your
supper," said her mother.
"There is nothing to fear but the prowling wolf.
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