Mary and I: Forty Years with the SiouxRiggs, Stephen Return
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Mary and I: Forty Years with the Sioux
Riggs, Stephen Return
Dakota Indians -- Missions; Riggs, Stephen Return, 1812-1883
"From my traveling companions I had received all possible
kindness, yet in many ways I had found the journey quite
trying. It was not practicable to vary one's diet very much,
with the care of the little ones just large enough to get into
all mischief imaginable. So I remembered with especial
gratitude Edwin and Ellen Phelps, who used now and then, at our
stopping-places, to _borrow_ the boy, so helping me to get a
little rest or to do some necessary work which would otherwise
have been impossible. At that time Edwin and his wife had no
children, and their eyes often followed my boy with yearning
looks. Since then the Lord has given them little ones to train
for his kingdom, and they are happy.
"But of that little sunny-haired baby boy we have naught but a
memory left--and this consolation:--
"'Christ, the good Shepherd, carries my lamb to-night,
And that is best.'
"And this:--
"'Mine entered spotless on eternal years,
Oh, how much blest!'"
During the meeting the tastes and needs of the children were not
forgotten, but Aunt Anna held them attent to her memories of the old
home-life, written for the grandchildren.
"Shut your eyes, and see with me the home place at
Lac-qui-parle--a square house with a flat roof, a broad stone
step before the wide-open door--cheery and sunshiny within.
Welcome to grandfather's home!
"To the right, in the distance, is the lake Mdeiyedan, where,
like a tired child, the sun dropped his head to rest each
night. Between us and the lake was a wooded ravine, at the
foot of which, down that little by-path, was the coolest of
springs, with wild touch-me-nots nodding above it, and a little
further on a large boulder on which we used to play.
"It seems to us as if we had but just come in from a long
summer's walk, with our hands full of flowers, and each and
every one must have a bouquet to set in his or her favorite
window. The wind, blowing softly, brings with it a breath of
sweet cleavers, and--well, so I must tell you what I remember.
"I can not stop to tell you of all the little things that made
our home pleasant and lovely in our eyes; or of the dear mother
who had it in her keeping, for I know all the grandchildren are
waiting for their stories.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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