NFSC Lore

Eagle and the wicked cat – Click here

PART I.

THERE was once a boy on the earth who was old enough to have a bow and arrows, but who had never seen a summer. He had no idea how it would look to have leaves on the trees, for he had never seen any such things. As for the songs of birds, he may have heard them in his dreams, but he never heard them when he was not asleep. If any one had asked, “Do you not like to walk on the soft grass?” he would have answered, “What is grass? I never saw any.”

The reason why this boy had never heard of summer was because there had never been a summer on the earth. Far to the north the earth was covered with thick ice, and even farther south, where the boy lived, the ground was rarely free from ice and snow.

The boy’s father was called the fisher. He taught his little son to hunt, and made him a bow like his own, only smaller. The boy was proud of his arrows, and was always happy when he went out to hunt. He had often shot a lynx, and once or twice he had shot a wolverine. Sometimes it chanced that he found nothing to shoot, and then he was not happy, for he realized how cold it was. His fingers ached, and his feet ached, and the end of his nose ached. “Oh, if I could only carry the wigwam fire about with me!” he cried, for he had no idea of any other warmth than that which came from the fire.

Now it chanced that Adjidaumo, the squirrel, was on a tree over the boy’s head, and he heard this cry. He dropped a piece of ice upon the end of the boy’s little red nose, and the boy bent his bow. Then he realized who it was, and he cried, “O Adjidaumo, you are warm. You have no fingers to ache with the cold. I am warm just twice a day, once in the morning and once at night.”

“Boys do not know much,” replied Adjidaumo, dancing lightly on the topmost bough. “The end of my nose is warm, and I have no fingers like yours to be cold, but if I had chanced to have any, I have an idea that would have kept them warm.”

“What is an idea?” asked the boy.

“An idea is something that is better than a fire,” replied the squirrel, “for you can carry an idea about with you, and you have to leave the fire at home. A lynx has an idea sometimes, and a wolverine has one sometimes, but a squirrel has one twice as often as a boy.”

The poor boy was too cold to be angry, and he begged, “Adjidaumo, if there is any way for me to keep warm, will you not tell me what it is? A lynx would be more kind to me than you are, and I am sure a wolverine would tell me.”

Adjidaumo had rarely been cold, but when he realized how cold the boy was, he was sorry for him, and he said, “All you have to do is to go home and cry. When your father says, ‘Why do you cry?’ answer nothing but ‘Boo-hoo, boo-hoo, boo-hoo! Get me summer, get me summer!’”

Now this boy rarely cried, but his hands and feet were so very cold that he thought he would do as the squirrel had told him, and he started for home. As soon as he reached the wigwam, he threw himself down upon the ground and cried. He cried so hard that his tears made a river that ran out of the wigwam door. It was a frozen river, of course, but when the fisher saw it, he knew it was made of the tears of his little son. “What are you crying for?” he asked, but all the boy answered was “Boo-hoo, boo-hoo! Get me summer, father, get me summer!”"

“Summer,” repeated the fisher thoughtfully. “It is not easy to get summer, but I will find it if I can.”

PART II.

The fisher made a great feast for the animals that he thought could help him to find summer. The otter, the lynx, the badger, and the wolverine came. After they had eaten, the hunter told them what he wished to do, and they all set out to find summer.

For many days they traveled, and at last they came to a high mountain upon whose summit the sky seemed to rest.

“That is where summer is,” declared the badger. “All we have to do is to climb to the summit and take it from the heavens.” So they all climbed and climbed, till it seemed as if they would never reach the top. After a long time they were on the very highest summit, but the heavens were above them.

“We cannot reach it,” said the fisher.

“Let us try,” said the lynx.

I will try first,” said the otter. So the otter sprang up with all his might, but he could not touch the heavens. He rolled down the side of the mountain, and then he ran home. The badger tried, and the beaver tried, and the lynx tried, but not one of them could leap far enough to reach the heavens. “Now I will try,” said the wolverine. “I am not going to climb away up here for nothing.” The fisher watched most eagerly, for he thought, “There’s my boy at home crying, and what shall I do if I cannot get the summer for him?”

The wolverine leaped farther than any wolverine ever leaped before, and he went where no animal on the earth had ever been before, for he went straight through the floor of the heavens. Of course the fisher followed, and there they were in a more lovely place than any one on the earth had ever dreamed of, for they were in the land of summer, and summer had never come to the earth.

The soft, warm air went down through the hole in the floor and spread over the earth. Birds flew down, singing happily as they flew, and all kinds of flowers that are on the earth to-day made their way through the hole as fast as they could, for they knew all about the little boy in the wigwam who was wishing that summer would come.

Now there were people in the heavens, and when they found that summer was going down to the earth through the hole in the floor, they cried out to the Great Spirit, “Take summer away from him, take it away from him!” and they shot their arrows at the fisher and the wolverine. The wolverine dropped through the hole, but the fisher was not quick enough, and he could not get away.

The Great Spirit said, “The heavens have the summer all the year, but the earth shall have summer half the year. I shall close the hole in the floor so the fisher cannot go down to earth again, but I will make him into a fish and give him a place in the heavens.”

When the Indians look up at the sky, they see a fish in the stars, and they say, “That is the good fisher who gave us the beautiful summer.”

THE sky used to be very close to the earth, and of course the earth had no sunshine. Trees did not grow, flowers did not blossom, and water was not clear and bright. The earth did not know that there was any other way of living, and so she did not complain.

By and by the sky and the earth had a son who was called the Shining One. When he was small, he had a dream, and he told it to the earth. “Mother Earth,” he said, “I had a dream, and it was that the sky was far up above us. There was a bright light, and it made you more radiant than I ever saw you. What could the light have been?”

“I do not know, my Shining One,” she answered, “for there is nothing but the earth and the sky.”

After a long, long time, the Shining One was fully grown. Then he said to the sky, “Father Sky, will you not go higher up, that there may be light and warmth on the earth?”

“There is no ‘higher up,’” declared the sky. “There is only just here.”

Then the Shining One raised the sky till he rested on the mountain peaks.

“Oh! oh!” cried the sky. “They hurt. The peaks are sharp and rough. You are an unkind, cruel son.”

“In my dreams you were still higher up,” replied the Shining One, and he raised the sky still higher.

“Oh! oh!” complained the sky, “I can hardly see the peaks. I will stay on the rough rocks.”

“You were far above the rocks in my dream,” replied the Shining One.

Then when the sky was raised far above the earth and no longer touched even the peaks, a great change came over the earth. She, too, had thought the Shining One unkind, and she had said, “Shining One, it was only a dream. Why should you change the sky and the earth? Why not let them stay as they were before you had the dream?”

“O Mother Earth,” he said, “I wish you could see the radiant change that has come to pass. The air is full of light and warmth and fragrance. You yourself are more beautiful than you were even in my dream. Listen and hear the song of the birds. See the flowers blossoming in every field, and even covering the rough peaks of the mountains. Should you be glad if I had let all things stay as they were? Was I unkind to make you so much more lovely than you were?”

Before the earth could answer, the sky began to complain. “You have spread over earth a new cloak of green, and of course she is beautiful with all her flowers and birds, but here am I, raised far above the mountain peaks. I have no cloak, nor have I flowers and birds. Shining One, give me a cloak.”

“That will I do, and most gladly,” replied the Shining One, and he spread a soft cloak of dark blue over the sky, and in it many a star sparkled and twinkled.

“That is very well in the night,” said the heavens, “but it is not good in the daytime, it is too gloomy. Give me another cloak for the day.” Then the Shining One spread a light blue cloak over the sky for the daytime, and at last the sky was as beautiful as the earth.

Now both sky and earth were contented.

“I did not know that the earth was so radiant,” said the sky. “I did not know that the sky was so beautiful,” said the earth. “I will send a message to tell her how lovely she is,” thought the sky, and he dropped down a gentle little rain.

“I, too, will send a message,” thought the earth, “and the clouds shall carry it for me.” That is why there is often a light cloud rising from the earth in the morning, it is carrying a good-morning message from the beautiful earth to the sky.

ALL kinds of strange things came to pass in the days of long ago, but perhaps the strangest of all was that the nurses who cared for little children were not women, but brooks and rivers. The children and the brooks ran about together, and the brooks and rivers never said, “It is time to go to bed,” for they liked to play as well as the children, and perhaps a little better. Sometimes the brooks ran first and the children followed. Sometimes the children ran first and the brooks followed. Of course, if any animal came near that would hurt the children, the brook or river in whose care they were left flowed quickly around them, so that they stood on an island and were safe from all harm.

Two little boys lived in those days who were sons of the king. When the children were old enough to run about, the king called the rivers and brooks to come before him. They came gladly, for they felt sure that something pleasant would happen, and they waited so patiently that no one would have thought they were so full of frolic.

“I have called you,” said the king, “to give you the care of my two little sons. They like so well to run about that one nurse will not be enough to care for them, and of course it will be pleasanter for them to have many playmates. So I felt that it would be better to ask every river and evern brook to see that they are not hurt or lost.”

“We shall have the king’s sons for our playmates!” whispered the rivers. “Nothing so pleasant ever happened to us before.”

But the king went on, “If you keep my boys safely and well, and follow them so closely that they are not lost, then I will give you whatever gift you wish; but if I find that you have forgotten them one moment and they are lost or hurt, then you will be punished as no river was ever punished before.”

The rivers and even the most frolicsome little brooks were again quiet for a moment. Then they all cried together, “O king, we will be good. There were never better nurses than we will be to your sons.”

At first all went well, and the playmates had the merriest times that could be thought of. Then came a day when the sunshine was very warm, but the boys ran faster and farther than boys had ever run in the world before, and even the brooks could not keep up with them. The rivers had never been weary before, but when this warm day came, one river after another had some reason for being quiet. One complained, “I have followed the boys farther than any river.” “Perhaps you have,” said another, “But I have been up and down and round and round till I have forgotten how it seems to be quiet.” Another declared, “I have run about long enough, and I shall run no more.” A little brook said, “If I were a great river, perhaps I could run farther,” and a great river replied, “If I were a little brook, of course I could run farther.”

So they talked, and the day passed. Night came before they knew it, and they could not find the boys.

“Where are my sons?” cried the king.

“Indeed, we do not know,” answered the brooks and rivers in great fear, and each one looked at the others.

“You have lost my children,” said the king, “and if you do not find them, you shall be punished. Go and search for them.”

“Please help us,” the rivers begged of the trees and plants, and everything that had life began to search for the lost boys. “Perhaps they are underground,” thought the trees, and they sent their roots down into the earth. “Perhaps they are in the east,” cried one animal, and he went to the east. “They may be on the mountain,” said one plant, and so it climbed to the very top of the mountain. “They may be in the village,” said another, and so that one crept up close to the homes of men.

Many years passed. The king was almost broken-hearted, but he knew it was of no use to search longer, so he called very sadly, “Search no longer. Let each plant and animal make its home where it is. The little plant that has crept up the mountain shall live on the mountain top, and the roots of the trees shall stay under ground. The rivers”– Then the king stopped, and the rivers trembled. They knew that they would be punished, but what would the punishment be? The king looked at them, “As for you, rivers and brooks,” he declared, “it was your work to watch my boys. The plants and trees shall find rest and live happily in their homes, but you shall ever search for my lost boys, and you shall never have a home.”

So from that day to this the rivers have gone on looking for the lost children. They never stop, and some of them are so troubled that they flow first one way and then the other.

“COME to my kingdom whenever you will,” said the goddess of the water to the king of the land. “My waves will be calm, and my animals will be gentle. They will be as good to your children as if they were my own. Nothing in all my kingdom will do you harm.”

The goddess went back to her home in the sea, and the king walked to the shore of the river and stood gazing upon the beautiful water. Beside him walked his youngest son.

“Father,” asked the boy, “would the goddess be angry if I went into the water to swim?”.

“No,” answered the father. “She says that nothing in all her wide kingdom will do us harm. The water-animals will be kind, and the waves will be calm.”

The boy went into the water. He could swim as easily as a fish, and he went from shore to shore, sometimes talking with the fishes, sometimes getting a bright piece of stone to carry to his father. Suddenly something caught him by the foot and dragged him down, down, through the deep, dark water. “Oh, father!” he cried, but his father had gone away from the shore, and the strange creature, whatever it was, dragged the boy down to the very bottom of the river.

The river was full of sorrow for what the creature had done, and it lifted the boy gently and bore him to the feet of the goddess. His eyes were closed and his face was white, for he was dead. Great tears came from the eyes of the goddess when she looked at him. “I did not think any of my animals would do such a cruel thing,” she said. “His father shall never know it, for the boy shall not remember what has happened.”.

Then she laid her warm hand upon his head, and whispered some words of magic into his ear. “Open your eyes,” she called, and soon they were wide open. “You went in to swim,” said the goddess. “Did the water please you?”.”

“Yes, surely.”

“Were the water-animals kind to you?”

“Yes, surely,” answered the boy, for the magic words had kept him from remembering anything about the strange creature that had dragged him to the bottom of the river.

The boy went home to his father, and as soon as he was out of sight, the goddess called to the water-animals, “Come one, come all, come little, come great.”

“It is the voice of the goddess,” said the water-animals, and they all began to swim toward her as fast as they could.

When they were together before her, she said, “One of you has been cruel and wicked. One of you has dragged to the bottom of the river the son of my friend, the king of the land, but I have carried him safely to shore, and now he is in his home. When he comes again, will you watch over him wherever in the wide, wide water he may wish to go?”

“Yes!” “Yes!” “Yes!” cried the water-animals.

“Water,” asked the goddess, “will you be calm and still when the son of my friend is my guest?”

“Gladly,” answered the water.

Suddenly the goddess caught sight of the crocodile hiding behind the other animals. “Will you be kind to the boy and keep harm away from him?” she asked.

Now it was the crocodile that had dragged the boy to the bottom of the river. He wished to say, “Yes,” but he did not dare to open his mouth for fear of saying, “I did it, I did it,” so he said not a word. The goddess cried, “Did you drag the king’s son to the bottom of the river?” Still the crocodile dared not open his mouth for fear of saying, “I did it, I did it.” Then the goddess was angry. She drew her long sword, and saying, “The mouth that will not open when it should must be made to open,” she struck the crocodile’s mouth with the sword. “Oh, look!” cried the other animals. The crocodile’s mouth had opened; there was no question about that, for it had split open so far that he was afraid he should never be able to keep it closed.

 ONCE upon a time there was a great fight between two tribes of Indians. It was so fierce that the river ran red with blood, and the war-cries were so loud and angry that the animals of the forest ran away in terror. The warriors fought all day long, and when it begin to grow dark, all the men on one side had been killed but two warriors, one of whom was known as Turtle. In those days there were no such animals as turtles in the ponds and rivers, and no one knew why he was called by that name. At last Turtle’s friend was struck by an arrow and fell to the ground.

“Now yield!” cried the enemies.

“Friend,” said Turtle, “are you dead?”.

“No,” said his friend.

“Then I will fight on,” said Turtle, and he called out, “Give life again to the warriors whom you have killed with your wicked arrows, and then I will yield, but never before. Come on, cowards that you are! You are afraid of me. You do not dare to come!”

Then his enemies said, “We will all shoot our arrows at once, and some one of them will be sure to kill him.” They made ready to fire, but Turtle, too, made ready. He had two thick shields, and he put one over his back and one over his breast. Then he called to his fierce enemies, “Are you not ready? Come on, fierce warriors! Shoot your arrows through my breast if you can.”

The warriors all shot, but not an arrow struck Turtle, for the two shields covered his breast and his back, and whenever an arrow buzzed through the air, he drew in his head and his arms between the shields, and so he was not harmed. “Why do you not aim at me?” he cried. “Are you shooting at the mountain, or at the sun and the moon? Good fighters you are, indeed! Try again.”

His enemies shot once more, and this time an arrow killed the wounded friend as he lay on the ground. When Turtle cried, “Friend, are you living?” there was no answer.

“My friend is dead,” said Turtle. “I will fight no more.

“He has yielded,” cried his enemies.

“He has not,” said Turtle, and with one great leap he sprang into the river. His enemies did not dare to spring after him.

“Those long arms of his would pull us to the bottom,” they said; “but we will watch till he comes up, and then we shall be sure of him.”

They were not so sure as they thought, for he did not come up, and all that they could see in the water was a strange creature unlike anything that had been there before.

“It has arms and a head,” said one.

“And it pulls them out of sight just as Turtle did,” said another.

“It has a shield over its back and one over its breast, as Turtle had,” said the first. Then all the warriors were so eager to watch the strange animal that they no longer remembered the fight. They crowded up to the shore of the river.

“It is not Turtle,” cried one.

“It is Turtle,” declared another.

“It is so like him that I do not care to go into the water as long as it is in sight,” said still another.

“But if this is not Turtle, where is he?” they all asked, and not one of the wise men of their tribe could answer.

ONE day a crane was sitting on a rock far out in the water, when he heard a voice say, “Grandfather Crane, Grandfather Crane, please come and carry us across the lake.” It was the voice of a child, and when the crane had come to the shore, he saw two little boys holding each other’s hands and crying bitterly.

“Why do you cry?” asked the crane, “and why do you wish to go across the lake, away from your home and friends?”

“We have no friends,” said the little boys, crying more bitterly than ever. “We have no father and no mother, and a cruel witch troubles us. She tries all the time to do us harm, and we are going to run away where she can never find us.”

“I will carry you over the lake,” said the crane. “Hold on well, but do not touch the back of my head, for if you do, you will fall into the water and go to the bottom of the lake. Will you obey me?”

“Yes, indeed, we will obey!” they said.

“We will not touch your head. But please come quickly and go as fast as you can. We surely heard the voice of the witch in the woods.”

It really was the witch, and she was saying over and over to herself, “I will catch them, and I will punish them so that they will never run away from me again. They will obey me after I have caught them.”

The crane bore the two little boys gently to the other shore, and when he came back, there stood the witch.

“Dear, gentle crane,” she said, “you are so good to every one. Will you carry me over the lake? My two dear children are lost in the woods, and I have cried bitterly for them all day long.”

The spirit of the lake had told the crane to carry across the lake every one that asked to be taken over; so he said, “Yes, I will carry you across. Hold on well, but do not touch the back of my head, for if you do, you will fall into the water and go to the bottom of the lake. Will you obey me?”

“Yes, indeed, I will,” said the witch; but she thought, “He would not be so timid about letting me touch the back of his head if he were not afraid of my magic. I will put my hand on his head, and then he will always be in my power.” So when they were far out over the lake, she put her hand on the crane’s head, and before she could say “Oh!” she was at the bottom of the lake.

“You shall never live in the light again,” said the crane, “for you have done no good on earth. You shall be a whitefish, and you shall be food for the Indians as long as they eat fish.”

FROTHI, king of the Northland, owned some magic millstones. Other millstones grind corn, but these would grind out whatever the owner wished, if he knew how to move them. Frothi tried and tried, but they would not stir.

“Oh, if I could only move the millstones,” he cried, “I would grind out so many good things for my people. They should all be happy and rich.”

One day King Frothi was told that two strange women were begging at the gate to see him.

“Let them come in,” he said, and the women were brought before him.

“We have come from a land that is far away,” they said.

“What can I do for you?” asked the king.

“We have come to do something for you,” answered the women.

“There is only one thing that I wish for,” said the king, “and that is to make the magic millstones grind, but you cannot do that.”

“Why not?” asked the women. “That is just what we have come to do. That is why we stood at your gate and begged to speak to you.”

Then the king was a happy man indeed. “Bring in the millstones,” he called. “Quick, quick! Do not wait.” The millstones were brought in, and the women asked, “What shall we grind for you?”

“Grind gold and happiness and rest for my people,” cried the king gladly.

The women touched the magic millstones, and how they did grind! “Gold and happiness and rest for the people,” said the women to one another. Those are good wishes.”

The gold was so bright and yellow that King Frothi could not bear to let it go out of his sight. “Grind more,” he said to the women. “Grind faster. Why did you come to my gate if you did not wish to grind?”

“We are so weary,” said the women.

“Will you not let us rest?”

“You may rest for as long a time as it needs to say ‘Frothi,’” cried the king, “and no longer. Now you have rested. Grind away. No one should be weary who is grinding out yellow gold.”

“He is a wicked king,” said the women. “We will grind for him no more. Mill, grind out hundreds and hundreds of strong warriors to fight Frothi and punish him for his cruel words.”

The millstones ground faster and faster. Hundreds of warriors sprang out, and they killed Frothi and all his men.

“Now I shall be king,” cried the strongest of the warriors. He put the two women and the magic millstones on a ship to go to a far-away land. “Grind, grind,” he called to the women.

“But we are so weary. Please let us rest,” they begged.

“Rest? No. Grind on, grind on. Grind salt, if you can grind nothing else.”

Night came and the weary women were still grinding. “Will you not let us rest?” they asked.

“No,” cried the cruel warrior. Keep grinding, even if the ship goes to the bottom of the sea.” The women ground, and it was not long before the ship really did go to the bottom, and carried the cruel warrior with it. There at the bottom of the sea are the two millstones still grinding salt, for there is no one to say that they must grind no longer. That is why the sea is salt.

THREE cranberries once lived together in a meadow. They were sisters, but they did not look alike, for one was white, and one was red, and one was green. Winter came, and the wind blew cold. “I wish we lived nearer the wigwam,” said the white cranberry timidly. “I am afraid that Hoots, the bear, will come. What should we do?”

“The women in the wigwam are afraid as well as we,” the red cranberry said. “I heard them say they wished the men would come back from the hunt.”

“We might hide in the woods,” the green cranberry whispered.

“But the bear will come down the path through the woods,” replied the white cranberry.

“I think our own meadow is the best place,” the red cranberry said. “I shall not go away from the meadow. I shall hide here in the moss.”

“I am so white,” the white cranberry wailed, “that I know Hoots would see me, I shall hide in the hominy. That is as white as I.”

“I cannot hide in the hominy,” said the green cranberry, “but I have a good friend in the woods. I am going to ask the juniper tree to hide me. Will you not go with me?” But the red cranberry thought it best to stay in the moss, and the white cranberry thought it best to hide in the hominy, so the green cranberry had to go alone to the friendly juniper-tree.

By and by a growling was heard, and soon Hoots himself came in sight. He walked over and over the red cranberry that lay hidden in the moss. Then he went to the wigwam. There stood the hominy, and in it was the white cranberry, trembling so she could not keep still.

“Ugh, ugh, what good hominy!” said Hoots, and in the twinkling of an eye he had eaten it up, white cranberry and all.

Now the red cranberry was dead, and the white cranberry was dead, but the little green cranberry that went to the juniper-tree had hidden away in the thick branches, and Hoots did not find her. She was so happy with the kind-hearted tree that she never left it, and that is the reason why the juniper-tree has berries.

Digital Painting: Bhargavi Narayanan

“You have been on the mountain a long time,” said the wife of the hunter.

“Yes, wife, and I have seen the most marvelous sight in all the world,” replied the hunter.

“What was that?”

“I came to a place on the mountain where I had been many and many a time before, but a great hole had been made in the rock, and through the hole I saw–oh, wife, it was indeed a wonderful sight!”

“But what was it, my hunter?”

“There was a great hall, all shining and sparkling with precious stones. There were diamonds and pearls and emeralds, more than we could put into our little house, and among all the beautiful colors sat a woman who was fairer than they. Her maidens were around her, and the hall was as bright with their beauty as it was with the stones. One was playing on a harp, one was singing, and others were dancing as lightly and merrily as a sunbeam on a blossom. The woman was even more beautiful than the maidens, and, wife, as soon as I saw her I thought that she was no mortal woman.”

“Did you not fall on your knees and ask her to be good to us?”

“Yes, wife, and straightway she said: ‘Rise, my friend. I have a gift for you. Choose what you will to carry to your wife as a gift from Holda.”

“Did you choose pearls or diamonds?”

“I looked about the place, and it was all so sparkling that I closed my eyes. ‘Choose your gift,’ she said. I looked into her face, and then I knew that it was indeed the goddess Holda, queen of the sky. When I looked at her, I could not think of precious stones, for her eyes were more sparkling than diamonds, and I said: ‘O goddess Holda, there is no gift in all your magic hall that I would so gladly bear away to my home as the little blue flower in your lily-white hand.’”

“Well!” cried the wife, “and when you might have had half the pearls and emeralds in the place, you chose a little faded blue flower! I did think you were a wiser man.”

“The goddess said I had chosen well,” said the hunter. “She gave me the flower and the seed of it, and she said, ‘When the springtime comes, plant the seed, and in the summer I myself will come and teach you what to do with the plant.”

In the spring the little seeds were put into the ground. Soon the green leaves came up; then many little blue flowers, as blue as the sky, lifted up their heads in the warm sunshine of summer. No one on the earth knew how to spin or to weave, but on the brightest, sunniest day of the summer, the goddess Holda came down from the mountain to the little house.

“Can you spin flax?” she asked of the wife.

“Indeed, no,” said the wife.

“Can you weave linen?”

“Indeed, no.”

“Then I will teach you how to spin and to weave,” said the good goddess. “The little blue flower is the flax. It is my own flower, and I love the sight of it.”

So the goddess sat in the home of the hunter and his wife and taught them how to spin flax and weave linen. When the wife saw the piece of linen on the grass, growing whiter and whiter the longer the sun shone upon it, she said to her husband, “Indeed, my hunter, the linen is fairer than the pearls, and I should rather have the beautiful white thing that is on the grass in the sunshine than all the diamonds in the hall of the goddess.”

Image source: http://www.womeninthebible.net/1.3.Rebecca.htm