"Once the hawk, by chance, flew in the face of the coyote. Instead of
fighting about it as naughty children might, they, like people of good
manners, apologized many times. Then they talked over the unhappy state
of things and determined to remedy the evil. The coyote first gathered a
great heap of dried tules, rolled them together into a ball, and gave
them to the hawk, with some pieces of flint. The hawk, taking them in
his talons, flew straight up into the sky, where he struck fire with his
flints, lit the ball of reeds, and left it there whirling along with a
bright yellow light, as it continues to whirl to-day; for it, children,
is our sun, ruler of the day."

"The hawk next flew back for another ball to rule the night, but the
coyote had no tule gathered, and the hawk hurried him so that some damp
stems were mixed in. The hawk flew with this ball into the sky and set
it afire but because of the green tules it burned with only a dim light;
and this, children, is our moon, ruler of the night."

"That is a fine story," said Payuchi. "I am glad I did not live when
there was no light."

"Tell us how the coyote danced with the star," said Gesnip.

"No," replied the mother, "another time we shall see. Now I shall sing
to coax sleep to tired eyes, and the little ones will go to bed." And
this was what she sang: "Pah-high-nui-veve, veve, veve, shumeh, veve,
veve, veve, shumeh, Pah-high-nui-veve," and so on, repeating these words
over and over until Cleeta and Nakin were sound asleep. Then she laid
them on their tule mats, which were spread on the floor of the jacal,
where baby Nahal, close wrapped in his cocoon-shaped cradle, had been a