Chapter II: Part 2

Far off the shore of Chipewyan lies an island, beautifully wooded and shaped very like a lady’s hat. On this island, alone, for nearly fifty years had lived Ani, who seldom spoke to any one, nor did she ever go to the mainland to enter into the festivities of the other Indians living in the vicinity of the settlement comprising two old Hudson’s Bay forts, a store of the company that traded with the Indians, a log church and a few straggling huts that fringed the woodlands on one side and the lake on the other. In winter the Indians trapped and hunted for the many valuable fur animals that roamed the desolate parts of this great northern wilderness, and in the spring and summer fished for their winter supply for their dogs that helped them drag the game from the woods, often many miles from the settlement.

The women made white and colored moccasins of the most beautiful designs, adorned with porcupine quills dyed in many colors, some of the strands being almost as fine as a hair. These were braided and twisted with silk cords also of many colors, making a charming adornment for the feet, even of a queen. Because the Indian women were not industrious, there were but few made, and these were all bought by the trappers, so people of the Southland never saw them.

Far beyond the island on which Ani had made her home so long, was another smaller one where Ani’s lover, a very handsome Beaver Indian, had lived more than forty years before. He had gone on a long trail for moose and caribou and had never returned; and every morning at dawn, and in the evening at sunset Ani would take a wild flower that her lover had given her, and which she had kept in a squirrel-skin bag, and go to the edge of the lake when the sun made a path of gold away across to the far shore, and call in her feeble voice to the Great Spirit to send back her brown-eyed boy of so many dead years of long ago. But he never came, and her heart grew more sad as the years passed. There were so many reasons why she wanted him--her tipi needed repairing, it was hard for her to cut wood, the path to the lake was stony and sometimes she would bruise her feet and groan; but there was no one to hear or to help her. She would not leave the island, fearing if she did her lover would return and would not be able to find her.

One morning she heard the paddle of a canoe, and thinking perhaps he had come, she threw down her pan in which she was frying a portion of rabbit that she had snared two days before, and slowly crawled to the opening of her tipi and looked out; but it was not he--only two boys who were pointing their canoe directly to the path leading to her camp.

“Hello, Granny Ani!” called the boy plying the bow paddle, but Ani was so disappointed she made only a grunt as a reply.

“Hello!” they called again.

Ani made no answer, standing with a worried look.

“Get some fagots,” called the boy in the bow. “We have brought a goose and caribou tongues, and we will share them with you.”

Ani seemed pleased and went for an armful of dry branches--she had not eaten goose for so long, and caribou tongue she had almost forgotten. She was so slow the boys went to help her, and gathered for her a fine lot of branches, dry and just the right size to make a quick and hot fire. The goose was prepared and strung on a birch branch, as also were the tongues, just close enough to the fagots to roast without burning.

“I have no tinder,” said Ani.

“Never mind,” said the boy with the bright, flashing eyes, and with the tip of his finger he touched the branches, at which they burst into flame, much to the astonishment of Ani.

“Spirits,” thought she, “I’ll not go too near them.”

“Get a gourd,” demanded the other boy in a tone Ani did not like--but she obeyed, and brought a fine big one hanging on long strings of caribou sinew. She handed it to the boy, and as soon as he had taken it, it filled to overflowing with clear, cool water.

“You are children of the Evil Spirit,” said Ani, looking first at one and then at the other, and then at the fire.

This remark made the boys laugh.

The goose and tongues were by this time nicely browned, and the edge of the fire had spread to a pile of dry leaves. This was put out by a gesture of the hand of the boy who had so mysteriously filled the gourd. But this Ani had not noticed as she was now anxious to know if the boys would make a fair division of the food, as she was growing very hungry.

The first boy reached out and tore from the goose a leg dripping with rich juice while the other lad took from the stick a dainty tongue, and began eating. Ani waited for them to invite her to join in the feast, but they did not. This so offended her that she seized the nearest boy (who made no resistance) by the hair of the head, and led him to the water, pushing him into a deep hole where he sank to the bottom. Looking up to her he waved his hand, and smiled, making strange faces at the astonished old woman who was too startled to speak. Then going back to her tipi, she collected a large armful of leaves and piled bundle after bundle of branches until they mounted as high as she could reach. Then she went to the other boy with her pipe, pretending she wanted to smoke, and asked him to light it, which he did. Then she put the fire from her pipe on the ground beneath the great pile and blew until a flame burst out, the fire leaping high. Quickly seizing the boy, she dragged him to the pile and pushed him into the burning mass. He also did not resist, but sat without discomfort in the midst of the flames until the fire had burned itself out. Then he shook the ashes from his clothing and walked back to his friend who had returned from the river, and they finished their meal together.

“Where is the old lady?” asked the boy whom Ani had tried to burn, and they went in search, finding her sitting behind an old hut that had been deserted before she came to live on the island. She was very much worried by their coming, and told them so; but they only smiled, and told her she was to have all the goose and the caribou tongues that remained, and that they, who were the incarnation of fire and water, the elements she needed most, had been sent to her by the spirit of her lover to hunt, to make her fire, cook her food, and to water the island so berries and herbs would grow--and to do all that fire and water could do for her in her old age.

The old Indians who knew Ani said the boys served her in every way as long as she lived, and that she was never so happy as when they were with her; and some said her young lover came back, and they journeyed together to the far-off land that the white man called heaven.

OLD SPOT AND THE CUPIDS

Arachnida, or “Spotted Spider,” the name given him by his neighbor Yuti, who lived at the edge of the trail not far from the bear’s den, had grown so large, and his legs so long that his snare was no longer strong enough to bear his weight. Once in a while he would go back to it, make a few extra turns, spin stronger strands, and try it out; but it was no use, down it came every time he tried. After repairing it, he would say to himself, “Never again.” Then he would go back to the dark cave in the ledge that for many years had been the home of his friend, Bruin, who had wandered away, and had never returned. Nor did any one know of his whereabouts.

Old Spot, though having really no claims by right of possession to Bruin’s premises, felt he was not trespassing. He had always been on the most intimate terms with him, and had served him in many ways, recalling how often he had nursed him when Black Bear had feasted, not wisely, but too well in the garden of Yuti, who had cultivated a well-ordered patch bordering the woodland near his lodge.

Yuti suspected Bruin--in fact had seen him leaving the patch where the corn grew several nights before he had gone away; but being on friendly terms with Spot, who was very devoted to Bruin, he never made any complaint, feeling it was better to live in accord with his neighbors rather than to plant the seed of hostility. “Bruin was hungry, so let him eat. The sun and rain will cause more corn to grow.” This is what Yuti would say.

Old Spot had always lived alone, weaving his snare in the most likely place for his prey, just at the beginning of the trail as it entered the wood, and in good view of his apartment in the ledge. His spinners and spinnerets had the reputation of making the strongest silk thread in that vicinity.

Of course, Spot was proud of this, but he was getting on in years--some of his twelve eyes were losing focus, and he sometimes felt, though not always, with Bruin away and Yuti not as sociable as he would have liked him to be, that life did not have much attraction for him. His mandibles did not serve him with the same dexterity that they had possessed when he was younger, when he tried to seize his prey and squeeze it: this depressed him. There were also symptoms of rheumatism in two or three of his many legs, causing troublesome and disagreeable pains; and having many legs and long ones, the chances were that his suffering would be much more serious than if they had been fewer and shorter.

Knowing that these symptoms without doubt meant the approach of age, he became very blue at times, and for days would not stir from his quarters to see if his snare held any food for him.

For two days and as many nights he slept with his long slender legs wrapped about him. The fall was coming on and he would often wake himself by chilly shudders, the nights being very, very cold. On the morning of the third day he was wakened by a strange noise. The sound came from the direction of his snare, but knowing that the young fox and the lynx made noises like real babies he paid little heed. Changing his position because three of his hind legs had gotten tangled, he settled again for another sleep of a day or two. Again the sounds like those of a crying child disturbed him, and again he said to himself:

“It’s only a young thing that has strayed from its mother.”

Before he had finished thinking, the cries became louder and more appealing; so Spot, being of a kindly nature, though age had hardened him as it does so many, decided to investigate.

He had been in one position so long that his legs, or a half-dozen of them, refused to work as he would like to have had them; but being very hungry from his long fast, he drew himself together, and with a big effort and a bigger grunt, stood up, stretched himself, and walked to the entrance to his den.

Just as he poked his face out Yuti, who was gathering fagots to make a fire to roast a fat rabbit he had snared the night before, called out:

“You’ve got a fine catch this morning.”

Spot did not answer. Turning in the direction of his snare that was stretched from either side of the trail, attached to as fine a pair of white birches as ever plumed a wood, he beheld two creatures with great, tapering wings, beating and struggling for freedom, making at the same time, wee, shrill cries that caused Spot to hurry his pace.

His first thought was for the safety of his snare.

“Here’s a pretty mess,” thought he. “How shall I ever repair it?”

All the time Spot was hobbling toward the strange, struggling things, their cries increased. They were real heart-piercing cries. The more they shrieked the more they struggled, and alas, poor Spot’s snare was being torn to ribbons.

The cries were so terrifying that Spot was just a bit frightened, but having been always very courageous, he rather resented the feeling of timidity, and, quickening his steps, he approached the destroyers and the destroyed.

“Bears and beetles!” ejaculated Spot, “What have I caught this time?”

Fast in the lashings of his great web a brace of Cupids were beating their splendid wings vigorously against his snare. As he came near they cried more lustily.

“Where does so much sound come from?” thought Spot, looking at their rosy, plump little bodies.

Seeing Spot approaching them, they cried all the louder; but observing his venerable and kindly face, they suddenly became quiet, waiting to see what was to be their fate.

“Well, my children,” said Spot in a gentle tone, “you’ve made a pretty kettle of fish of my only means of securing food. Where did you come from, and what are your names?”

“Get us out of this tangle and we’ll tell you all about it,” said the Cupids in chorus.

Old Spot gathered the end of a long strand of spider silk that was floating with the wind, and began to wind.

“Hurry!” said one of the little prisoners. Spot hurried as fast as he could, but the faster he worked his spinner the oftener he broke the thread.

“Be patient,” said Spot, “The more haste the less speed.”

“Yes, but I’m cramped,” said the Cupid who was bound tighter than his mate, as he struggled to free himself. Part of the great web fastened to the birches began to sag from the weight of the chubby little victims.

“Have a heart,” commanded Spot in a sterner voice than before. “There will be nothing left of my trap if you don’t keep quiet.”

“But you are so slow,” observed the one with four dimples on his hand.

At last the sticky threads were tightly bound on Spot’s spinners, and the poor tired little chubs, being free, stood up, slowly moving their wings that had been so ruffled and mussed by old Spot’s food-catcher.

“You asked our names and where we came from,” straightening out their wings and adjusting a few shaggy feathers.

“Yes,” said Spot, scratching his head with his hindermost leg in meditation.

“Cupid is our name. We have no home.”

“No home?” echoed Spot. “What is your other name?”

“We have no other name, it’s just Cupid.”

“That’s news to me,” said Spot thoughtfully, adding:

“Aye, aye! You’re the little chaps that make a lot of trouble in the world. I’ve heard of you very often.”

“Yes, and a lot of happiness,” they replied timidly, in a voice not bigger than a wren’s.

Again the little fellows flapped their splendid wings, that were gradually getting back to their original form.

“Not quite so much breeze; I’m very sensitive to drafts,” pled Spot, eyeing the pair with a feeling of pity.

“No father or mother? Poor kiddies,” thought he.

“You have always been alone?”

“Always,” they replied.

“Have you nothing to wear to keep you warm?”

“Nope,” they replied, shivering just a little, seeing old Spot was being moved to sympathy.

“We’ll see about that,” he said. “Come over to my house, and I’ll build a fire for you.” So over they all went to Spot’s den.

“What a delightful place,” said the Cupids, looking around.

“You like it, do you?” said Spot.

“It’s very cosy,” said they as they entered the den, and cuddled in one corner where the leaves had blown in as if to make a comfortable bed for them.

“Would you like to make your home with me?”

They looked at each other with an expression of pleasure, each anticipating the reply of the other to be “Yes.”

“Would you let us?”

Spot did not reply, he was so deep in thought. “What delightful little things to have around,” he almost said aloud.

“Would you let us?” they repeated.

“I’d be glad to have you,” trying not to express too much emotion, as he was pleased beyond all measure at the thought of having them for his companions.

“What shall we do about our wings; they are so terribly in the way,” as they tried to adjust them so they would not scrape the rough wall of the cave.

“If you want them clipped my friend Yuti can attend to that,” said Spot.

“Would it hurt?” they asked.

“I think not.”

“All right; can we have it done now?”

“We’ll go and see if Yuti is at home,” replied Spot, looking in the direction of Yuti’s moose-skin lodge.

Over they went across the cleared land, where they found Yuti mending his moccasins.

“I’ve a job for you,” called Spot, as Yuti looked up very much bewildered at the sight that to him was startling.

“I’ve a little job for you, Yuti,” repeated Spot. “Get your tomahawk and clip the wings of my little friends.”

Yuti looked at Spot and then at the Cupids. “What a strange request,” he thought.

Then Spot took Yuti aside and told him about his strange experience, and Yuti only smiled, saying nothing.

Going to his lodge he got his tomahawk and led the party to an old oak stump. Then taking the Cupid standing nearest to him, he gently led him to the stump and placed his wing upon it. With one stroke off it came.

“My! that was easy,” said his interested companion, looking to see if it hurt.

“Now the other,” said Yuti, and Cupid turned around.

Down came the strong arm of Yuti, and off came the other wing.

“What a relief,” sighed the little fellow, now free of his troublesome appendages. The other Cupid moved toward the stump. It was but the work of a few seconds and all was over.

Reaching up and each taking one of Yuti’s hands in his, the tiny fellows thanked him; then the little party started back to the den.

On their arrival the conversation became more general and less constrained, all becoming better acquainted.

“Something must be done about your clothing; we are liable to have snow any day,” said Spot, in a tone burdened with solicitude, for spiders have the reputation of being kind to their young and those they like, even though the lady-spider sometimes devours her husband in a fit of anger.

“Let’s go down to the snare and see how much there is left of it,” he continued. “If it can’t be repaired I’ll have to weave another, for clothing you must have.” After surveying the mass of tangled threads, they decided it would be best to make a new web.

For days Spot worked upon it. Then he began the patterns for the suits. Up and down, under and over, he wove, warp and woof, doubling it and twisting the threads so that the garments would be warm; drawing close and tight the strands that formed the strange little affairs to be worn by his Cupids--perhaps the only Cupids that ever wore clothes.

They would sit in admiration. “How really clever old Spot is,” they remarked.

As the wonder garments neared completion, he added pockets, and made openings through which the little wings that were left could pass.

Realizing how good he was to them, they decided to be very helpful and to serve him in every way possible as long as he lived, which was to be for a very long time. When strangers passed and saw the little things sitting close to Spot, some would ask: “How is it that their wings are so small?”

Then Spot would smile and say: “The reason Cupids have no wings is because--they do not want them.” And then Spot would look at the Cupids and the Cupids would look at Spot, and they would giggle; but Spot would look serious. Of course, the strangers did not understand the cause of their merriment.

Sometimes when Spot put the Cupids to bed, and covered and tucked them in with sweet grasses and scented moss flowers to keep them warm, he would sit beside them when the tree-toad whistled his night song, and wonder if they had their large wings again, whether they would fly away, and leave him all alone.

THE UNDERWATER PEOPLE

One evening in the fall of the year, far-away in the North, on the shores of a great lake, there were sitting around the camp-fire a party of Beaver Indians. The winter had already set in, for the ice comes early, and it is very cold when the sun has gone to rest.

Hocini, the oldest man of the party, had fallen asleep. Around the moose-skin tents were scattered bits of wood, dried fish hung on racks, and five dogs, used in winter for drawing moose and caribou, were sleeping as near as they dared to be, to the warm fire, for the Indians are very cruel to their dogs, who really are very good to work so hard for masters who do not allow them to get near enough to the fire to warm themselves. The hoot owls had begun to make their strange noises and open their big, round eyes, for night was their day, and they must hunt food when they could see best, which was in the dark.

Away on the far-flung reaches of the hills the wolf began to cry and moan. He is a big animal of grayish color, sometimes seven and a half feet from the tip of his tail to his nose-end. Many say he came originally from Siberia when there was a land crossing from Alaska to Siberia, and that his great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers and many of his relations way back in the years of long ago came to visit our Northland, and liked it so much they did not return to the land of their birth. That land is now divided from Alaska by the waters that flow from the Arctic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean, so if he did ever want to go back to visit his relations in Siberia, he would have to swim, for no craft that go to Siberia for furs would care to have him for a passenger as he has a bad disposition, and cannot be depended upon when he is hungry.

While the Indians were sitting by the fire they suddenly saw a man passing along in the dusk. He was carrying on his back a strange blanket which was sewn with caribou sinew for thread, as the Indians had no cotton thread. It was made of dozens and dozens of muskrat skins covered with fish-scales all sorted as to color and size, and the lining was made of many, many squirrel-skins also covered with fish-scales, which were also well matched for color, making a beautiful and very warm water-proof covering for his body.

“Where are you going and what are you going to do?” asked an old man of the tribe.

“I’m going to become a young man again,” he replied.

“How will you do that?” asked another old person.

“We will go with you,” said one of the party, “for we like youth, for then we can hunt the beaver and moose in far-away mountains.”

“Do as you please,” the stranger replied indifferently.

“Let us go,” said a young brave to two of his brothers-in-law, and they got up and went to their tents to get their bows and quivers and long hunting moccasins, for it had rained in the morning, and the ground was not yet dry.

The stranger called to them, “Hurry!” and seemed out of sorts; but the Indians paid no attention to his mood and smiled at his haste.

After saying good-by to their people, they joined the stranger and walked through a dark wood until they came to a lake shore. Suddenly the strange man who had been walking ahead of them, said: “Xwui!” and went through a hole in the ice to the bottom of the deep lake where his wife and many children were awaiting him. He did not greet his wife as though he was fond of her, and to one of his children he said roughly:

“Tell the men on the shore to do as I have done.”

So the three men went to the hole through which the stranger had gone, and dove to the bottom. Then they walked to a settlement on the sands of the lake where there were many tents made of all kinds of skins--of moose, caribou, white deer, muskrat, lynx, beaver, and many skins the Indians had never seen before--and around the tents, walking about, were many people, who did not look at them.

The children of the strange Underwater Man would take bits of tough grass and make fish snares. Then they would wait for a big fish to come swimming along, swishing his tail and looking many ways with his strange eyes. The children would hold out the snare, saying, “To nai,” which means “fish” in the beaver language. Then the fish would swim into the snare and be caught, and would say, as he wriggled to free himself, “Do ha-s tei-ul tuk,” which means, “Do not kill me.” Then the children would take the fish to their mother, and she would cook it on hot stones that lay near a spring of boiling water that came from the bed of the lake.

The stranger called to the three men to come to his tent and eat. They did so, and he shared the fish with them.

Suddenly some one stepped on the foot of the man who had asked his brothers-in-law to go with the stranger. He looked up, and saw a giant frog standing on his left foot. He could not believe his own eyes, for he had never seen a frog so large. The frog said to him:

“I was once a man like yourself, but years ago, while picking berries on the shore of the lake, I fell into the water and became a frog. I have the secret, and if you wish to become a frog who can live both on land and in the water, which has its advantages, I will tell you where you can get some wonderful berries, red and sweet. Eat of them and lie down on the bottom of the lake, and after you have been sound asleep you will awake and be as you see me.”

The man who owned the beautiful blanket was angered that the frog had given the secret to them, and said: “I do not like it that the minds of your people are so intent on us.”

As the visitors were growing very short of breath from being so long under water, they said: “We will return to our people, but must go in a canoe as the water is making us ill.” So the Underwater Man loaned them an old canoe.

“Take care how you use my canoe, for it is not very good,” he called to them in a warning way. They paddled nearly to the shore. Then the canoe melted away. The men swam for the land, but when they reached it one was missing. The other two believed that their brother was dead, but as they sat on a big rock they saw his head appear and reappear, and once when his head was above water he called:

“I am held by the frog. Help me!” So the two swam out, but when they came near to the man he said:

“Go back; I am free, the frog has gone!”

The men swam ashore and stood up. When they looked again they saw a great jack-fish--they could not see their brother. The jack-fish swam toward them and walked on its tail upon the shore. Like magic it turned into a man, and they all returned to the camp, to tell the wonders of their adventure.

Suddenly the old man who had gone to sleep began to groan and cry out. His wife, who was also very old, said: “Hocini, my husband, is dreaming.” The old man then woke up and said in a frightened way: “The frog, the frog. Where is he?” and his wife said:

“Poor old man, the frog is in the lake,” and Hocini said: “I have been dreaming again,” and his wife said “Yes,” and laughed, and so did the old man.

WATC’ AGIC KILLS THE TALKING-BIRDS

Once there was a man who wandered all over the earth. He had as his companions many kinds of birds who could not, or would not, talk or sing without his consent. He was a man who talked little but thought much, and noises worried him, especially the noises made by talking-birds like the parrot and the magpie.

In his wanderings he would meet many kinds of people who did not like him, because when they spoke to him he would only say “Yes” or “No” to any questions they would ask. Of course, his attitude toward all he met made them angry, and when he visited the villages the second time, many of the Indians threatened to kill him. The places in which he thought he would be in the most danger he would go around and not show himself or his bird companions, for he was very kind to them, and they held him in great respect, although he had told them he would surely rid himself of their company if they should talk so loud that his enemies could hear them. They also feared him, for many times had they seen the way he had treated other birds, and they knew what his mission was.

One day, after a long walk, they came to the foot of a high hill. Around the hill and coming from afar, they could see great numbers of birds.

“This,” said the man, “is the ‘City of Birds,’ and no man dare go among them. If he should, they would pick his eyes out. Many times have I heard my father tell of his band of beavers who went among them, and of their fate.”

“Let us go!” spoke up a great eagle. “I will defend you. My parents’ nest was on yonder mountain, and I have many relations living among them.”

“As you will,” said the man, “but let us wait until night falls and they are asleep.”

The eagle had been talking matters over with his companions, and they all, with the exception of a few of the smaller birds, decided to go, happen what might. So at dusk they started.

The road was long and dusty, and many times they had to wait for the vain birds to clean their plumage and arrange their feathers, but it was better so, because many of the older birds of the City of Birds had not returned to their nests. The man, although impatient, thought they might have been discovered if this cause for their delay had not happened.

As they approached the city, a night-hawk who was just going to work, gave a wild scream. This caused a great awakening in the town, and all the birds went to the public square in alarm.

The eagle said “Go on.” So the party boldly went among the crowd. Some, I can assure you, were very much frightened; but they had great confidence that some of the relations of the eagle would be living, and would no doubt befriend them.

When the mayor of the town, a great pelican, saw the strange bundle the man carried on his back, he said: “My good brother, what have you on your back?”

“They are my songs,” the man replied.

“Ah!” said the mayor, “sing them, and I will have my troupe of dancing flamingoes keep time to your songs.”

“Those who dance to my songs, and those who do not, if strangers to me, must keep their eyes shut when I sing,” said the man.

The mayor called to the crowd that was chattering so loud his voice could hardly be heard. So he called again:

“Do you agree, my townsmen?”

He opened his mouth so wide that a great fish he had eaten for supper floundered out of his pouch. Before repeating his question he leaned over and picked it up. Again he repeated, “Do you all agree to keep your eyes closed when the gentleman sings?”

“We will do as you desire,” many of them replied.

So it was agreed. A great fountain in the middle of the square contained many fish both large and small. These fish were for the use of the mayor only, as he was getting old, and to climb the long hill from the river made him both tired and cross. So the man said:

“Come near the fountain. My songs are of running water and brooks, and it will inspire me to sing them more to your pleasure.”

So the crowd moved near the big basin full of water, deep and very wet.

“Bring your flamingoes and I will begin,” said the man.

The eagle called him aside and said: “During your song they will know because their eyes are shut, how dark it is for the thousands they have made blind.” The man did not reply, but walked close to the fountain.

“Eyes shut!” he called loudly, and the people all closed their eyes and he began to sing in a harsh voice, for he could not sing, and disliked any kind of music.

“I will sing of Mayor Pelican,
And of his pretty daughter,--
And of a dashing pelican
Who in matrimony sought her.
And while I sing I’ll wring your necks,
And throw you in the water.”

All the people smiled but kept their eyes closed, fearing he would stop his funny song. So he continued to wring their necks and throw them into the deep water of the fountain.

After he had treated them all alike, he said to his companions:

“We are quite safe now; let us remain here until morning, as there are many places of shelter and plenty of food.”

So it was agreed, and they resumed their journey about dawn the following day.

Transcriber’s Notes

• Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.

• Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

• Duplicate half title before first chapter removed.

• Illustrations relocated close to relevant content.

• Footnote numbered and moved below the relevant paragraph.

• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

• Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original.