That spirit is still prevailing where the weak and the strong meet in the struggle for existence, and the weak and innocent do not appeal to sympathetic hearts when they ask for mercy. The business and commercial altars must have a sacrifice for the benefit of the strong. This picture is always before me. My love for the world is like the love of a despondent mother for her sick child. LOST IN THE SNOW No one who has never lived near an Indian school has any idea of the loneliness and homesickness that fills the poor little hearts of the Indian youths who have been torn away from the rude Indian home and herded together between gloomy brick walls, so different from the teepee of their semi-savage parents. The government department in charge of these schools talk of abolishing the schools located at a distance from the reservations, and building school houses right in the village, retaining only four such schools as that of Carlisle, Pa., to serve as high schools for the larger youths. I believe there is much sense and good judgment in this. Civilization should not force painful conditions upon the children of our copper-skinned wards. I recall to mind the desertion of five little Indian boys from a school near which the writer spent several years, and a more pathetic tale never was told. Like the instinct of bees and animals, these Indian boys knew that their native village lay to the southwest of the school, and when homesickness felt so unbearable that it could not be endured, they stole from their dormitory one dark night in November, swam the river and started to climb the rugged side of the great Rocky Mountains. Little Jake Hargison was but six years old, and the baby of the deserters, but he struggled through the dark and up the rocky side of the towering mountain with courage stimulated by the hope of seeing home and parents within a few days. Being only boys, they had not provided food for the journey, each lad carrying only a small lunch in his pockets. At daylight they were far up on the mountain side, half frozen; for they had come to an impassable cliff and so were obliged to wait until the daylight came, not daring to build a fire lest it be seen from the valley where the school buildings were located. It was past noon when they finally reached the top of the mountain and struck out boldly to cross the broad mesa extending far to the southwest. Far in the distance they could see the mountain range at whose foot nestled the Indian village they called home. They knew it was seventy-five long miles away, but they never flinched or thought of turning back. Late in the afternoon the sky grew gray with bleak clouds, and the northeast wind chilled them to the bone. There were already four inches of snow on the mesa, and the eldest of the boys knew instinctively that another snow storm was in the air. But they had on stout government shoes, and did not fear the snow.