Mother West Wind Where" Stories"

y who knows Peter at all knows that Peter doesn't waste any time worrying over what may happen in a day that may never be. So Peter isn't

I don't believe in working today so that I won't have to work tomorrow, because when tomorrow comes there may be no nee

Little Chief Hare, who is commonly supposed to be a relative of theirs, although, as a matter of fact, he is neither a Hare nor a Rabbit, but is a Pika, which is another family altogether. He is also called a Coney and sometimes the Calling Hare. But if you want sure-e

l about him, and he got the story from his grandfather, who got it from his grandfather, who had one time visited the great mountain where Little Chief's ever-so-great-grandfather lived in the very place where Little Chi

dn't make much of a dinner just now. When I dine I want something more than skin and b

and such tender twigs as I can reach, and they are not very filling. But they'll keep me alive unti

is so much sweet grass and clover in the summer, you would make some of it into hay and store

earn to make hay?" demanded Peter, his e

thing else to do just then, he sat down just outside the dear Old B

or him in the Great World. Now Mr. Pika, who was promptly called Little Chief, no one remembers now just why, was exactly like Little Chief of today. He was just about a fourth as big as you, Peter. In fact, he looked a lot like one of your babies, excepting his legs and his ears. His legs were short and rather weak, and his ears were short and rounded. He was very gen

gher up the mountain, for the higher he got the fewer enemies he found. At last he came to a big rock-slide above where the trees grew, and where there was nothing but broken stone and big rocks. The sun

d to look about a little. It didn't take him long to discover that there were wonderful little winding galleries and hiding-places

hey couldn't find me, for no one, not even King Bear, could pull away these stones fast enough to catch me.

ock-slide and was perfectly happy. One day he decided he would take some of his dinner into his little cave and eat it there. So he cut a little bundle of pea vine and other green things. He left his little bundle on a flat rock in the sun while he went to look for something else and

so badly that he was forced to take it out and throw it away. That set him to thinking. Why was the first he had brought in so dry and sweet and pleasant? Why didn't it spoil as the other had done? He cut some more and spread it out on the big flat rock and once again he f

he sat grew almost hot. Little Chief had brought along a couple of pieces of pea vine on which to lunch, but not being hungry he left them beside him o

n that does i

hay-maker in the Great World. He soon had more than enough for a bed, but he kept on making hay and storing it away just for fun. Then came cold weather and all the green things died. There was no food for Little Chief. He hunted and hunted, but there was nothing. Then because he was so hungry he be

ather taught him

ge

aught his children and they taught their children, and Little Chief of today does it just as his great-great-ever-so-great-g

reason I don't," repl