A BIRTHDAY THOUGHT

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XXIV, Issue 80, 16 March 1934, Page 15

A BIRTHDAY THOUGHT

The best things are nearest; breath in your nostrils, light in your eyes, flowers at your feet, duties at your hand, the path of God just before you. ..... Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life’s plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things of life. —John Ruskin.

BEAR KIWIS, —Numbers of you have written to me at different times about the Eskimos, and so I know you are interested in these unusual folk, whose lives are spent mid snow and ice. and will appreciate the following pretty story of the Northland, explaining how the robin got her red breast. Often during the long, dreary winter the Eskimos, grown people and children, gather round the tire in their curious little houses to listen to stories of senli hunting or other exciting sport. I One story which the children love and i ask for over and over again is about a little bird which visits some parts of their country' during the short summer. They say that a great many years ago there wag only one fire in the whole Northland. Of course, this fire was very precious. An old man and his little son took turns in caring for lit, and kept it burning day and nigh I They knew that if the fire went out they would freeze to death. Their one great enemy was the white bear. He would have been glad to see them die, so that he might have the Northland all to himself. He was always watching the lire and hoping that something would happen to put it out. One day the old man became very ill and there was no one to help his littli son. For many days and nights the boy bravely kept the fire burning and cared for his sick father. But at last he became so tired and sleepy that he could scarcely stand. The white bear laughed to himseli when he saw that the boy would soon have to give up. He was sure that ai last he was to have the whola Northland to himself. That night the poor little boy could keep awake no longer. As he was sitting by his father’s s;< his head fell slowly forward, and he was soon fast asleep. Then the great white bear ran to the fire, beat it with his great wet paws, and rolled upon it until, as he supposed, he had put it all out. After that he went off to his den, chuckling over what he had done. A little grey robin was flying near. She watched until the bear had gone away, then flew down and searched with her sharp little eyes, until she found a tiny spark of fire among the ashes. She get to work to fan this spark into a blaze. She went down close to the spark and patiently fanned it with hei little wings. By and bye her breast was burned red, but still she fanned, until a fine blaze was started. Now it was plain that the Northland could never be the white bear’s; and all that he could do was to go farther back in his den and growl. When the little boy awoke in the morning he found the fire burning brightly, and the poor tired little robin with her breast scorched red. Ever since that day robins have had red breasts, and Eskimo children love and care for them in memory of the one that kept burning the first fire of the Northland. There is something in this fable oi the flobin red breast (of which our English kin speak so ofEeotionately), to set u s all thinking. If we apply ourselves diligently to conquer the small things of life —the very least spark which we see—we have made a good beginning for the big things which arise from those small and sometimes apparently insignificant ones. We have three new Kiwis to welcome: Patty Hunt, Patrician Bowen and Lenora Menzies. I want to thank Tubby for the stamp he sent to M Nobody, which I have forwarded. My love to you, dears. CHIEF KIWI.