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Washington: Hayworth Publishing House, The School Days of an Indian Girl. We had been very impatient to start on our journey to the Red Apple Country, which, we were told, lay a little beyond the great circular horizon of the Western prairie. Under a sky of rosy apples we dreamt of virls as freely and happily as we had chased the cloud shadows on the Dakota plains. We Amature porn in widnes anticipated indoan pleasure from a ride on the iron horse, but the throngs of staring palefaces disturbed and troubled us. On the train, fair women, with tottering babies on each arm, stopped their haste and scrutinized the children of absent mothers.

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We shook the snow off ourselves, and started toward the woman as slowly as we dared.

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My tears were left to dry themselves in streaks, because neither my aunt nor my mother was near to wipe them away. I was certain we had made her very impatient with us. In this way I had forgotten my uncomfortable surroundings, when I heard one of my comrades call out my name. Among our people, short hair was worn by mourners, and shingled hair by cowards!

Then there was a mad uproar in the hall, where my classmates sang and shouted my name at the top of their lungs; and the disappointed students howled and brayed in fearfully dissonant tin trumpets. Thus, homeless and heavy-hearted, I began anew my life among strangers. I was both frightened and insulted by such trifling. I did not heed them.

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My teeth were hard set, as I saw the white flag still floating insolently in the air. We had been very impatient to start on our journey to the Red Apple Country, which, we were told, lay a little beyond the great circular horizon of the Western prairie. That night I dreamt about this evil divinity. We heard her say feebly, "No! From happy dreams of Western rolling lands and unlassoed freedom we tumbled out upon chilly bare floors back again into a paleface day.

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My gilrs grew icy cold, as I realized that my unrestrained tears had betrayed my suffering to her, and she was grieving for me. After my concluding words, I heard the same applause that the others had called out. Large men, with heavy bundles in their hands, halted near by, and riveted their glassy blue eyes upon us.

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When he began talking with my mother, I slipped the rope from the pony's bridle. This time the competition was among orators from different colleges in our State. Read a little from them," she said most piously. Too soon my turn came, and I paused a moment behind the curtains for a deep breath. The hinges squeaked as the door was slowly, very slowly pushed inward.

A loud-clamoring bell awakened us at half-past six in the cold winter mornings. I was sent into the kitchen to mash the turnips for dinner. In spite of myself, I was carried downstairs and tied fast in a chair. With a broken slate pencil I carried in my apron pocket, I began by scratching out his wicked eyes. My mother and the woman hushed their talk, and both looked toward gjrls door.

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Then, before I lost my faith in the dead roots, I lost the little buckskin bag containing all my good luck. I sat perfectly still, with my eyes downcast, daring only now and then to shoot long glances around me. At length, in the spring term, I entered an oratorical contest among the various classes.

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Very near my mother's dwelling, along the edge of a road thickly bordered with wild sunflowers, some poles like these had been planted by white men. An Indian woman had come to visit my mother.

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In the midst of the whipping the blows ceased abruptly, and the woman asked another question: "Are you going to fall in the snow ggirls I watched my chance, and when no one noticed I disappeared. A small bell was tapped, and each of the pupils drew a chair from under the table. My mother had not yet forgiven my rudeness to her, and I had no moment for letter-writing.

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A rosy-cheeked paleface woman caught me in her arms. Directly in front of me, children who were no larger than I hung themselves upon the backs of their seats, with their bold white faces toward me. Though we rode several days inside of the iron horse, I do not recall a single thing about our luncheons. But when I turned my head, I saw that I was the only one seated, and all the rest at our table remained standing.

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It was my mother's voice wailing among the barren hills which held the bones of buried warriors. But lo!

Thanking them for the kind spirit which prompted them to make such a proposition, I walked alone with the night to my own little room. In a little while I came in sight of my mother's house. This amused us all, and we tried to see who could catch the most of the sweetmeats.