something more than skin and bones. It must be that you are having as
hard work as I am to get a living these days."

"I am," replied Peter. "With all this snow and ice on the ground, there
is nothing to eat but bark and such tender twigs as I can reach, and
they are not very filling. But they'll keep me alive until better times
come, and then perhaps I'll get fat enough to suit you." It was Peter's
turn to grin.

Old Man Coyote grinned back good-naturedly. "I should think, Peter,"
said he, "that when there is so much sweet grass and clover in the
summer, you would make some of it into hay and store it away for winter,
as Little Chief Hare does. There's the thrifty little hay-maker for
you!"

"Who is Little Chief, and where did he learn to make hay?" demanded
Peter, his ears standing straight up with curiosity.

Old Man Coyote likes to tell a story once in a while, and having nothing
else to do just then, he sat down just outside the dear Old Briar-patch
and told Peter all about Little Chief and his hay-making.

"Of course," said he, "Little Chief's father taught him how to make hay,
and his father's father taught him, and so on way back to the days when
the world was young and Old Mother Nature made the first Pika or Coney,
whichever you please to call him, and set him free on a great mountain
to prove whether he was worthy to live or was so helpless that there was
no place for 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.