Like clouds before the sun are the races of men, and
one race rises and another falls. Here you are not first, but last; and
the child of the white father and mother, though they be as the dirt that
flies from a horse's heels, it is before you. Your mother is a
Blackfoot."
As the woman spoke slowly and with many pauses, the girl's mood changed,
and there came into her eyes a strange, dark look deeper than anger. She
listened with a sudden patience which stilled the agitation in her breast
and gave a little touch of rigidity to her figure. Her eyes withdrew
from the wild storm without and gravely settled on her mother's face,
and with the Indian woman's last words understanding pierced, but did not
dispel, the sombre and ominous look in her eyes. There was silence for
a moment, and then she spoke almost as evenly as her mother had done.
"I will tell you everything. You are my mother, and I love you; but you
will not see the truth. When my father took you from the lodges and
brought you here, it was the end of the Indian life. It was for you to
go on with him, but you would not go.
Pages:
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54