The Middle Five: Indian Boys at SchoolLa Flesche, Francis
History
The Middle Five: Indian Boys at School
La Flesche, Francis
Indians of North America -- Juvenile literature
The afternoon was close and hot; the windows and doors were open, but
the place was very quiet. Now and then I heard the cry of a bird, or
the laughter of the happy wren. The time seemed very long as I stood
there, with my arms thrown back around the post and my hands tied so
that I could not defend myself against the flies that attacked my bare
feet. A rooster came to the back door and entered the dining-room.
He shied on discovering me; but, as I did not move, he began picking
in the cracks of the floor. He spied my toe, looked at it curiously,
turning his head from side to side, then stretched his neck and gave
it a dab. I was in no mood to be amused by his actions, so I sent him
flopping and squawking under the table. Recovering from his surprise,
he ran around, sprang on the table, then on the sill of the open
window, tossed up his head, flapped his wings, gave a lusty crow, and
hopped out.
Immediately I saw eight little fingers hook themselves on the outer
edge of the window-sill, and a head with black hair held back by a
rubber comb rise higher and higher until two bright eyes gazed right
into mine. The head disappeared, and shortly after a little figure
cautiously approached the door, looked all around, and then came up to
me. It was Rosalie. Her bright smiling face threw a sunbeam into my
gloomy little heart. Without saying a word she wiped the perspiration
from my face with the corner of her apron; then she went away softly in
the direction of the kitchen. Soon she returned with a tin cup having
in it bits of ice. She took a lump and put it in my mouth, then stood
looking in my face. After a while, she said, "I like you, don't I?"
"'M h'm!" I assented with my mouth closed, nodding my head.
"When we get big, we're going to be married, ain't we?"
"'M h'm!" again I answered.
"We won't send our children to this horrid old place, will we?"
"'M'm! 'M'm!" I replied with emphasis, shaking my head and stamping the
floor.
The little sweet-heart, seeing that the flies troubled my ankles, went
out and came back with a linden branch and brushed away the pests. I
slid to the floor and sat down with my legs stretched out. Rosalie
dropped down too, and sat whisking away the flies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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