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them to become flies. This immediately takes place. Flies of all sorts originate.

It must have been telepathy.

“The flies,” Jean remarked, “are awful biters.’

“They are only old bones," I consoled her, “and can’t possibly hurt you. ” ’

“They bite just the same,” she continued, still unconvinced.

The fish were friendly, too. Whenever the Indians cast their nets for the fish they also sent out a prayer begging the fish to be brave and kind enough to pop into the nets. In return, they promised to burn their bones and throw the ashes back into the stream. Then the spirit fish could come to life again and all would be well.

Many of their stories originated from contact with many peoples since leaving the highlands of Asia, but, in general they were the products of their own imagina- tion. No wonder they are such vivid and wild stories. Imagine the distance those stories wandered and developed—Asia to the Aleutian Islands to Alaska to Prince Edward Island.

Many and varied were the Indian stories, but they always were magnificent in their proportions. Tiny children with tiny weapons overcame giants beasts . . . serpents. Hearty menwaccording to specifications—fed from scraps which kept enlarging. There was a wildness of imagination. There were giants, serpents as big as mountains, and superhuman powers. Many of their stories were built around themes of love, hate, murder and war.

The devil was quite a character. He could “fly through the air with the greatest of ease,” go down

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