Chickadee Read Free Page B

had those two powerful sons who enjoyed trouble just as much as their father.
    But for a moment, Chickadee was hidden from the old man’s eyes, and everybody else’s eyes, behind a small hillock of stone. And there he continued watching his namesake. The chickadee had begun its spring song, which was a sweet and lilting song, not the mischievous scolding of winter. Every spring when this happened, Chickadee felt a wash of happiness come over him. It was a promise of warmth, food, berries, summer, swimming, and fun. But this time, as he listened, he heard old Zhigaag’s words.

    â€œScrawny? Am I scrawny? Are you a weakling, my namesake?”
    As he watched his tiny namesake hop from twig to twig, Chickadee felt disappointed for the first time. Why couldn’t he have a protector like the bear or the lynx or the caribou or the eagle? Why was he singled out by such an insignificant little bird? He had a sudden thought that appalled him—he would be a grown man and still be called Chickadee! What kind of name was that for a powerful warrior? He groaned.

    â€œOh, my namesake, why did you choose me?”
    Suddenly, the little bird flew away. Chickadee turned over and closed his eyes. He sensed the great strong roots of the maple trees drawing water from the earth and sweetening it with their own sugar. He should have felt joy. But he was laughed at, overworked, unappreciated, and deserted even by his namesake. His eyes stung with pity for himself.
    â€œAh, there you are!”
    Chickadee sighed and sat up, brushed the leaves from his hair. At least it wasn’t old Zhigaag who’d found him.
    It was Nokomis, which was not so bad. She was very good at getting around with her little walking stick, and she never told him what to do. His great-grandmother was so old that she had dim eyesight, though, uncannily, she never mistook him for his twin, the way other people did. She put her hand in her little buckskin bag for a treat.
    â€œDid I give you your sugar lump, my boy?”
    â€œOh, no, my Nookoo, not yet!” Chickadee hid the sugar lump he already had in his cheek and put out his hand.
    â€œYou are a good boy,” said Nookoo. “But you can’t fool me, Chickadee. I’ll give you extra anyway. And here, give this other lump to your brother. What are you doing here? This is my secret place!”
    Chickadee was amazed that his great-grandmother, who tottered around and couldn’t see or hear very well anymore, had noticed his lumpy cheek, and more, that she had a secret place. Why would she need a secret place?
    â€œI used to come here when I was a little girl,” said Nookoo, settling herself against the rock. “We Anishinabeg have been coming here since time began. Did you know that these trees are the children of the original spirit trees who understood us and told us how to gather their water and boil it into syrup and sugar so long ago?”
    â€œGaawiin, Nookoo!”
    Chickadee was more curious than most boys, who might have run off right after getting an extra treat.
    â€œWhy have you hidden yourself away?” Nokomis asked. Although she was ancient, his great-grandmother always saw into his heart.
    Because she always listened to him, Chickadee always told her the truth.
    â€œOld John Zhigaag said that I was scrawny, a weakling, just like my namesake.”
    â€œWhat!”
    Great-Grandmother’s eyes filled with a cloudy fire. Her back straightened. She thumped her walking stick on the ground.
    â€œThis is very bad, my boy, very bad!” she cried. “Doesn’t the old fool realize that you must never insult the chickadee?”
    â€œOh?”
    Chickadee remembered that he himself had been disrespectful to the little bird, and that it had flown away. Uneasily, he scratched his head and sat closer to Nookoo.
    â€œWhy is it you must never insult the chickadee?” he asked in a low voice.
    His great-grandmother gave him a surprised