FullReads

“I looked, and, sure enough, there was the little red star, lying on the bottom of the crock, and shining so brightly that we could see it through the water. ‘My star!’ I said. ‘We shall always keep it here, my father. I brought it down with my arrow.’

“The next day my father took me hunting, and he gave orders that that jar was never to be moved from beside his door until I should leave him, and then it was to go with me. And always he has kept fresh water from the spring in the jar. See, he has brought it up here beside your tepee that it would be waiting for me. Yes, my Fir Tree, see, here is my own star still shining brightly–more brightly to-night because of my great happiness with you.”

“Dear little Willow Wand, what a beautiful child you are,” said Fir Tree, and he brushed back her black hair and looked into her eyes. “Don’t you know that the star in the crock is only a reflection of a real star above your dear head in the sky? No one can really shoot a star, Willow Wand.”

“But of course it is a real star, Fir Tree; we heard it splash as it fell into the jar, my father and I. And I see it now; it has always been here since that night. You are mistaken, Fir Tree.”

Fir Tree rose and lifted up the jar, and, tipping the water out, said, “See, I shall show you that Fir Tree is never mistaken. I shall empty the crock. See, there is no star left in the jar, nor has any red star tumbled out with the water onto the grass. Ah, your secret was very beautiful, little Willow Wand, but now you know the truth. The truth, too, is beautiful.”

There was a little moan of anguish, and Willow Wand disappeared into the darkness.

The next morning a tall squaw came out of Fir Tree’s tepee. She picked up the empty rain jar and with tired footsteps walked down to the spring for water. She was dressed in the conventional clothing of her tribe, and her face was dull and expressionless like the stones on the path over which she walked. Down the long trail to the spring she walked. It was very, very early, so the moon still shone and the little stars twinkled in the sky. Often she looked at them, longing for her little red star.

Slowly she stooped, filled the jar, and lifted it to place it on her head when suddenly she stopped, looked–then gave a cry of surprise and delight, for there, shining clear as crystal in the water of the pail, was the little red star.

Willow Wand set the jar carefully on the ground and then knelt long beside it. How she loved the little red star! How happy she was to have it once more beside her! And as she looked, the tired look left her face and a smile of joy and peace took its place.

Picking up the jar, she looked once more into the clear cold water. Then she said,

“Come, little star. Come with me to the wigwam of brave, strong Fir Tree. Together we will make it the happiest wigwam in the encampment. You shall still help me to be my best, for I shall still have a star.”