Читать книгу The Middle Five: Indian Boys at School - Francis la Flesche - Страница 6

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In one of the little houses of the village of the "Make-believe White-men" there sat on the floor of the room, which served as parlor, kitchen, dining, and bedroom, a man and a woman. There was but one window to the room, and, the weather being warm, the door stood wide open to let in more light for the workers within. The man was cutting with great care a large piece of moistened rawhide into narrow strips to be braided for a long lariat, and from time to time he softly whistled a tune that was running through his head. Directly under the window sat the woman; around her were strewn little workbags, awls, bits of deer-skin, and shreds of sinew. Patiently she worked, pushing the point of the sharp awl through the edges of the leggings she was making, and drawing the finely twisted sinew thread through the perforation.

"We are the only ones in the village who haven't sent any children to the House of Teaching," said the woman, without looking up from her sewing, continuing a conversation the two were having. "Ma-wa'-da-ne has sent his boy, the only one he has. The man is lame, you know, and needs help; yet he wanted the boy to go, because he thinks some good will come of it to the child in the future. Then look at your friend E-sta'-ma-za, a man of great knowledge and foresight, he has sent his only boy and three daughters. There must be some good in it; we ought to send one of our boys at least."

The man took up a round stone and whetted his knife; then, as he felt the edge with his thumb, he replied, "I don't want the little one to go. Why don't you send the two big boys; they're hardly ever home anyway, and they might as well be at the house of the White-chests as anywhere else. What would the house be without the little one? We'd be very lonely, at least I'd be."

"I am just as fond of him as you are, and would miss him just as much; but he is the brightest of them all," said the woman, rising and stirring something that was boiling and sputtering in a pot on the stove. "He could learn faster than either of the older boys," she continued. "Before many years have gone, our dealings will be mostly with the white people who are coming to mingle with us; and, to have relations with them of any kind, some of us must learn their language and familiarize ourselves with their customs. That is what these men who send their children to the White-chests are looking forward to, and they love their boys as much as we do ours."

There was silence for some moments. The man fastened the ends of the rawhide strips to a peg in the floor and began to braid them. At length he said, "Where is the boy; he hasn't been in all the morning. When do you want him to go?"

"He might as well go now, to-day, the sooner the better. Of course he 's down by the creek with his little bow and arrows."

"Well, wife, I wish you would go and call him. I don't want these strips to dry on me while I am braiding them."

The woman went to the banks of the little stream that ran by the village, and called in a shrill voice, "Oo-ma'-a-be! Oo-ma'-a-be!"

"I'm coming!" shouted a bareheaded, black-eyed little boy, just as he shot a blue-joint grass arrow at a frog that had poked his head above the surface of the water to see what was going on in the outer world. Forgetting the call, the lad went stealthily on up the stream with another arrow strung, looking for other frogs that might be hunting for flies or mosquitoes, or enjoying the kisses of the warm sunshine in some pleasant nook.

"What can the boy be doing?" said the woman to herself, then she called again, this time emphasizing the first syllable of the name to indicate that she was losing patience, "Oo'-ma-a-be!"

With reluctant steps the boy made his way toward his mother, peering as he went into the tall grass to see if a grasshopper or any other creature might be exposing itself to the arrows of a sport-loving lad.

"Why did you not come when I first called you?" asked the woman as she took the child by the hand and led him with quickened steps toward the little house.

As the mother and son entered, the father looked up with a pleasant smile, and addressing the boy said, "Your mother went to call you because she wants us to go to the house of the White-chests, where you are to stay and learn to write. Now wash your hands and face, and make yourself look nice, so they will be pleased with you; then we will go."

The mother had the water ready, and began scrubbing the face and neck of the lad, while the candidate for scholarship was pressing his lips tightly together and squinting his eyes to exclude the soap that persisted in getting into them. Then followed the brushing of the hair, which was equally irksome to the boy, and he unconsciously leaned farther and farther away until he was pulled to again by the fond parent.

When both face and hair shone, the mother kissed her boy and announced to her husband that the child was ready. The father rose to go with him, but the boy held back.

"What is it?" asked the father; "are you not willing to go?"

"I am willing to go," answered Oo-ma'-a-be, "but I want to put on my embroidered moccasins and leggings and my little buffalo robe."

The husband and wife looked at each other smiling, and let the youngster have his own way, so he was decked out in his gorgeous costume. He folded himself up in his robe, which was beautifully ornamented with porcupine quills of exquisite colors, he twisted his body and neck to see if he looked well, then said he was ready to go.

In the school-room a class of big boys and girls were learning to read in concert:—