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The Delta Times Dec 1, 1905

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Come to me, O ye children I
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Ye open the eastern windows,
That look towards the sun,
Where thoughts are staffing swallows
And the brooks of morning run.
In your hearts are the birds and the sunshine,
In your thoughts the brooklets flow,
But in mine is the wind of Autumn,
And the first fall of the snow.
Ah ! what would the world be to us
If the children were no more ?
We should dread the desert behind us
Worse than the dark before.
What the leaves are to the forest-
Wit h light and air for food,
I.re thoir sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,-*-
That to the world are children ;
Through thrm it feels the glow
Of a brighter and sunnier climate
Than reaches tl.e trunks below
Come to me, O ye children !
And whisper in my ear
What, the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.
For what are all our contriving
Ancl the wisdom of our books.
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks ?
Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said ;
For ye are living poems.
And all the rest arc dead.
���^������^���^ HRISTMAS has a place in history as a day of
I f2% memorable events, events which have left to
I  m^~ thisdaytheirtraceinthestoryofthehumanrace.
mm*' Two mighty figures, Charlemagne and Wil
liam the Conqueror, loom large among the
ghosts of the great departed who chose for the
culminating glories of their lives the greatest
festival of the Christian Church. Both were
crowned on Christmas Day.
The man who brought Norman culture to
blend with Saxon vigor chose for his crowning
the day when the Prince of Peace was born.
Cruel irony! the Abbey ran red with Saxon
blood and Norman, even while they set the
crown upon his head.
Notable Christmas Birthdays.
Charles XI. of Sweden, Sir Isaac Newton, and Richard
Porson are among the notable men born on Christmas Day.
Charlemagne inaugurated the Holy Roman Empire.
That Empire had recorded its millennium before Napoleon
dissolved it. Curiously, it was on the eve of Christmas
that the great Corsican himself nearly suffered dissolution,
anjinfernal machine exploding in the Rue Saint-Nicaise,
just as he was proceeding to a performance of Haydn's
The longing to give effect afresh to the message of "Peace
on earth, goodwill towards men," may have been operative
upbringing to a close at this season of the year one or two
bloody wars. No peace was ever more welcomed than that
whose preliminaries were subscribed in 1814, ending the
hideous strife between England and America.
The cession of Venice to Napoleon cost Austria two and
three-quarter million subjects, and a revenue of two millions sterling; but that country was glad to make peace on
those terms at Christmas, ninety-nine years ago. The
same season had been chosen, sixty years earlier, by Prussia, Austria, and Poland for the signature of the peace at
Napoleon changed the_face of the map with treaties concluded in the Christmas season, but he has not been the
only one to change the face of the map at this period
of the year. Captain Cook gave us a new island on Christmas Day, and called it, appropriately enough, Christmas
More important,as it has since proved,Vasco da Gama
discovered on Christmas Day a land rising out of the sea,
which now flourishes under the British flag as Natal. On
the same day the Pilgrim Fathers ate the Christmas puddings which they haa taken with them from England, on
Plymouth Rock, which point they reached on Christmas
Day, two hundred and eighty-four years ago.
A Rich Christmas-Box.
For two centuries those who followed after them could
make thc journey only by the same means employed by
the pilgrims. Then came steam, and communication was
shortened: then the electric cable, and, after two hundred
and eighty-two years, there went a message in the wake of
away home at Darmstadt, where she died on the anniversary of her father's death.
There was another Christmastide which is not forgotten,
that which marked the receipt by the nation of the Queen's
letter of joy and thankfulness over the recovery of the
King, then Prince of Wales, from his dangerous illness, the
illness of 1871.
JT/e Rising of Star of ths J)3wri
(Continued from Page 4.)
When the sun prepared to dip his burning head into
the cool, purple depths of the distant horizon, Star of the
Dawn rose to her knees. She looked down upon the old
bent form beside her with a sudden great pity. What a
life! What an agonized past; what an unbearable
present; what a terrible, maddening, n onotonous future !
Obeying a quick, uncontrollable impulse, she stooped
and lightly kissed the withered cheek of the faithful Cree,
as Sister Angela used to kiss her when she had been particularly apt or docile. ' Then with a sudden flash of
Indian shame, she sprang away, down towards the eastward trail.
As she passed Thundering Tempest he made a savage
cut at her with his many-thonged whip. AH at once in
the heart of the little squaw flamed a sudden fire. What
right had this great creature to strike at her,   her, the
the "Mayflower," carried swift as thought across the waste
of waters, without the aid of cable.
Wireless telegraphy across the Atlantic was an established fact in Christmas week of 1902. That, so far, marks
the outpost of scientific advance, and we all deemed it a
rich Christmas-box.
But that will soon be left behind. The engineering
world thought the height of possibility attained when the
Mont Cenis tunnel, the work of thirteen years, in the course
of whose making the science of tunneling underwent a
revolution, was thrown open on Christmas Day of 1870.
They thought the same of the Tay Bridge, but there came
a terrible Christmas week in 1879, when the bridge and the
train it carried were swept into the storm-lashed firth,
when not one of the seventy passengers escaped, and when
the Board of Trade had to declare that the bridge had
been badly designed, badly constructed, and badly maintained, and, in a sentence, blasted for ever the fame of its
The Last Moments of Prince Albert.
Those were sad Christmases for the Queen. Her great
sorrow had descended upon her. The Christmas season of
1861 was just dawning when the light went out of her life.
Her beloved Prince was taken from her. Sir Theodore
Martin has described with infinite tenderness that mournful scene at the bedside.
The Queen, hearing the laboured breathing of the Prince
Consort, returned from the little dressing-room to which
she had retired for a few moments repose. Bending over
him she whispered " Es ist kleines Frauchen!" (" 'Tis your
own little wife!") and he bowed his head and kissed her.
The hand that the Queen knelt to clasp was already cold.
The Princess Alice knelt at the opposite side of the bed; at
its foot reverently knelt King Edward and Princess
"The Castle clock chimed the third quarter after ten.
Calm and peaceful grew the beloved form; the features
settled into the beauty of a perfectly serene repose; two or
three long, but gentle, breaths were drawn; and that great
soul had fled."
Windsor Castle for long afterwards was a place of
mourning. Not for the next fourteen years were Christmas festivities tolerated there; the old Castle was as .sad
and silent an abode as in those dreary days when Charles I.,
a prisoner, spent there his last Christmas on earth.
Three years after Windsor had thrown aside its mourning mantle, it was again plunged into sorrow. The
Princess Alice, who had been so devoted a nurse to her
father, and to her brother, now King Edward, died, a
martyr to her loving solicitude for her own children; and
when Christmas of 1878 came round she lay dead in her far
promised wife of a young white god! She thought of
Little Moon dragging her rheumatic feet hither and
thither, gathering grasses to procure comforts for this
cruel, inert mass of shapeless flesh ; she saw Yellow
Grass trudging wearily backward and forward between
Fort and tepee ��� for him, year after year, a patient,
uncomplaining beast of burden; she remembered Wandering Light crouched ever behind the tepee, fashioning
an endless series of moccasins���for him!���and wrath was
mingled with a wild thirst for revenge���nay, for just
In an instant she had darted al the ponderous chief and
had snatched the whip from his heavy hand.
The long lashes whistled through the still air once,
twice, then with a great hissing and stinging they fell upon
the fat face, the bull-like throat, the bare arms, the
unprotected hands of the astonished and agonized
Thundering Tempest. "This for Yellow Grass," fell in
gentle Cree irom the soft red lips, "this for Wandering
Light, this tor little Moon, and this," how that long,
thin, seventh lash curled and scorched across the old
brown face, "this for Star of the Dawn who will rise in
your camp no more!"
Then putting forth all her untamed strength, she
snapped the beautiful cedar stock across her strong young
knee, and casting it from her was off like a fawn.
The radiance of the setting sun melted slowly into a
misty purple, then faded to a cold dull grey as a light wind
sprang up and rustled the long prairie grasses.
The stars straggled out fearfully, tremblingly.one by
one, but the wide, lonely prairie awed them, or perhaps
it was the little prostrate figure lying face downward by
the eastern trail that they could not bear to look upon,
for one by one they crept away, out of sight behind a
friendly cloud. Slowly the long night hours dragged out
their weary round.
The eastern sky grew pink, then golden. By and by
the sun began his"solemn march across the tranquil sky.
And Star of the Dawn still lay in the whispering prairie
When twilight's purple shadows once more fell upon
the earth she rose wearily to her feet. The flowers in her
long, soft braids hung withered and limp; most of the
strings around her throat and arms dangled broken and
headless; the rosy flush had faded from her cheeks which
seemed to have become suddenly hollow and thin. She
looked with dull eyes toward the unresponsive east. She
had a vague  feeling  that Something should be coming ,
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towards her down the long, straight trail, but the great
prairie stretched out miles and miles before her, its line
unbroken, and she had forgotten just what it was that
she half expected to see.
She felt a strange gnawing within her, and mechanically her feet took her staggeringly, painfully, to the back
of her husband's tepee. Wandering Light was crouched in
its shadow as she always crouched, day after day.
A strange expression burned in her misty eyes as
the small figure swayed towards her. She looked around
her hastily, furtively, then she made a little opening
in the tepee, and guiding the unresisting girl through,
she covered her hurriedly with a ragged moose skin,
and sped back to her moccasin making.
Star of the Dawn pushed the noisome skin from her
face. Through the door of the tepee she could see two
men. They were holding converse together���Thundering Tempest and his great Son, Big Wind. Now and then
a soft Cree guttural fell upon her ear. At length Big
Wind turned his face toward her. He showed no surprise as his small, keen eyes met hers, but he rose and
came towards her. At the threshold of the tepee his
foot struck something. It was a seven-thonged whip with
a broken stock���broken at the middle so that the end left
would yet fit a man's grasp. He picked it up, and as he
approached her, holding it firmly in his strong, relent-
less,right hand, Star of the Dawn s dark eyes met his fearlessly���yet with perfect comprehension of his purpose.
Outside in the bright sunlight, Thundering Tempest,
rubbing his welted cheeks, sat and chuckled as certain
sounds smote upon his listening ears, but Wandering
Light, huddled shrinkingly in the shadow of the grimy
tepee, trembled and quivered in impotent, agonized
sympathy for the little Star whose brief and futile rising
had been bought with such a price.   ,���,.,,.
^4i.  ~MacJ.ean d?le��men. ��Ije 1^lta (Ftm?a
4T'.. ,-UtK-    flOOy.   "V
?*:-u^:-* CHRISTMAS   NUMBER.   DECEMBER,   1905.
\isihg of S^m of th<�� pawiq
BY M. MacLEAN helliwell.
door of his tepee, putting finishing touches to the handle of the
whip with which he was wont to
playfully encourage his patient
spouses to increased activity.
For many moons all his leisure
moments���which, being interpreted, signifies his infrequent periods
of comparative sobriety���had
been occupied in touching up
either the whip itself or any unwary brown ankles that ventured
within its range. The big chief's plaything was
beginning to look quite ornamental. The slender
handle of red cedar, from which were suspended
half a dozen long leathern thongs, fine and
stinging, was carved and recarved in many curious
if not entirely artistic designs, and was further
��aily  decorated   by   jaunty  little knots of red
annel, tied at intervals of two or three inches
all the way up the stock.
Thundering Tempest was now engaged in
fastening on a seventh lash, thinner and longer
than all the others, and this he intended solely
and exclusively for the slim chocolate-colored
ankles of his latest matrimonial experiment���
the agile young Star of the Dawn, whose scampering brown legs, slash he ever so warily and
unexpectedly, he had never yet succeeded in
Most nimble of foot was Star of the Dawn,
and to this injury to her lord she added deepest
insult by laughing to his face at each of his
unsuccessful ventures. She worried him, worried
him excessively, and as the old, old fingers tremblingly but with great care made fast the insinuating little leather snake whose nips were to teach
the wilful young squaw her duty, into the mind
of the venerable chief came the beautiful thought
that if the brown ankles still proved elusive he
would get his son, the burly Big Wind, to come
and set his father's house in order.
Once, many, many moons before, Thundering
Tempest had been the handsomest young buck
in all the Cree country, and a warrior so terrible
that even yet the braves trembled before his
frown, not understanding that now the
sudden tightening of the millions of wrinkles that criss-crossed the mahogany
visage of the old, old, old man was only
the outward visible sign of a decrepid,
senile weakness which had long since supplanted the swift lightning of scorching
wrath that had once blazed from the brow
of conscious strength. Now, full of years
and rheumatism, he sat all day long in
the door of his tepee playing with his
little whip and smoking, except, when,
overcome by influences too potent for
resistance, he rolled over inertly on his
blanket and snored happily and grunted
thickly while the sun beat fiercely upon
him and the busy ants crawled over him.
Occasionally he tried to think, and
had his vague, wandering ideas been
brought together they could doubtless
have been summed up thus: "The present
times are out of joint, and the higher
education of women is at the root of the
whole trouble."
Those of the faithful wives of Thundering Tempest who had not yet fallen by
the wayside were long past their first
youth. There were only three who still
trod life's pathway with him, Little Moon,
who had waxed exceeding fat despite the
hardships and toil of her pilgrimage, and
waddled with great difficulty���alas for
her shapeless ankles around which the
long lashes hissed untiringly; Wandering
Light, who was thin and bent and feeble,
and spent most of her time crouched out
of sight behind the tepee, making elaborately embroidered moccasins, with her
scrawny little shins tucked safely under her;
and Yellow Grass, who was comparatively young,
being little more than sixty, and upon whom it
generally devolved to carry the baskets and
moccasins to the Fort twenty miles distant,
where she exchanged them for the necessities
of life, which are principally tobacco and firewater, red flannel and colored beads.
Now it befell that in an evil moment the
ancient chief, Big Cloud, between whom and
Thundering Tempest a rancorous enmity had
long slumbered, experiencing a sudden desire
to be at peace with all men, decided to bury the
hatchet, and in substantial token of his friendly
. feeling gave to Thundering Tempest to wife the
daughter of his old age,.the beautiful Star of the
Now, unfortunately, Star of the Dawn was
constructed somewhat on the new woman plan
with greatly perverted ideas of the duty of wives
and the general submission becoming to her sex,
this lamentable state of mind being due partly
to nature and partly to her having spent several
years at a very, very superior Indian mission
school, where she learnt many things���not all of
them on the curriculum drawn up by its pious
founders. She was very beautiful, round and
plump and graceful as a fawn, with great dreamy
eyes and an occasional sparkle of gay vivacity,
doubly charming since utterly unexpected.
Moreover, she was very, very young and had been
inordinately petted at school, as she had been the
show pupil on all occasions.
Therefore, when her father suddenly ordered
her home and packed her off to lighten the
declining days of Thundering Tempest's life, the
poor little Star felt very lonely and sorely put
upon, and steadily refused to shine, except in
occasional trinkles, when her naturally buoyant
nature managed to rise above her gloomy surroundings.
Her education at the mission school availed
her little now. She could make a bed so neatly
as to charm the heart of Sister Angela, but there
were here no beds to make; she could prepare a
Sunday dinner to melt in the mouth of Father
John, but here were no Sundays, no dinners���to
speak of, no Father John, and alas, no nephew of
Father John who curiously enough had always
exerted a strange influence upon Star of the
Dawn's culinary achievements; and here no one
was the least interested in any of the events either
prior, incidental, or subsequent to the Norman
Conquest���or any other conquest, for that
matter���nor was the least concerned as to the
time it would take fifteen men working ten hours
a day to do a piece of work completed in twenty
days by thirty men working six hours a day.
Therefore, Star of the Dawn's accomplishments
were quite unappreciated, and as they did not
include a knowledge of basket-weaving or working in chamois skin and porcupine quills, the poor
HUb bride's time hung very heavily upon her
hands, and she found her only excitement in
teasing her co-wives and dodging her husband's
As Thundering Tempest sat in the door of his
tepee fastening on that seventh long, lithe lash,
Star of the Dawn, lying on the evil-smelling skin
within, watched him lazily with wholly comprehending eyes.
Star of the Dawn had been married two
months���eight, long, lonely, dreary weeks, and
she was tired of it. Her husband was also tired
of it, and had they been enlightened American
citizens, they would probably have held a well-
bred conference, and having decided to dissolve
the tie which bound them, would have proceeded
immediately to do so, each thereafter going his
and her separate way untrammelled. But they
were only pagan Indians, possessing no knowledge of the convenient methods of modern civilization, and therefore, bathed in the radiant glow
of the setting sun, Thundering Tempest grunted
morosely as he made secure the long-tailed lash,
and Star of the Dawn tossed uneasily on the
rough skin, thinking longingly of the dear little
mission school, of Father John, and of Father
John's nephew, the rollicking youth in the employ
of the mighty H. B. C He had flirted outrageously with the pretty little squaw, who had proved herself a most apt pupil in the gentle art���
which was one of those omitted in the mission
school's curriculum���and the girl's eyes were
luminous now with certain recollections.
Suddenly, down the long prairie road Star of
the Dawn caught sight of Something���Something
moving nearer and nearer. She jumped up and
ran out into the open air. Thundering Tempest
had just tied his last knot. He made a savage
slash at her as she sped past, but the hissing little
snake bit the dust a foot behind the shapely
ankles, and Star of the Dawn laughed silently as
she took the long trail through the prairie towards
that Something which came ever nearer and
Now Wandering Light, perhaps because she
was old and bent and shrivelled, thus giving
outward evidence of how mind masters matter,
represented the mental part of Thundering Tempest's establishment. Therefore, when twice a
week with unfailing regularity Star of the Dawn
slipped out in the last gleams of the setting sun
to meet a Something which moved towards her
down the lonely prairie trail, and did not return
to the protection of her husband's dwelling until
darkness lay upon the land, the rarely used
intellect of Wandering Light roused itself slowly,
and having pondered much in her good little
heart, the old Squaw one day spoke briefly to Star
of the Dawn.    The girl was curled up beside her
she was not asked, but was sister to her who did.
"Is it always so?"
"Always," crooned the withered Cree, "always, for the Great Spirit who made red man and
white man made for each his squaw, and when the
red squaw would follow a white chief always His
curse is upon her."
That night Something came moving across the
wide prairie nearer and nearer the little Cree
settlement. At last it halted, waiting patiently
while the sun went down and the stars came out,
but it waited'in vain, for Star of the Dawn lay on
the evil-smelling skins in her husband's tent, her
eyes tight shut, her hands clinched, trying to
stifle, to smother something which was tearing
cruelly at the little untamed heart. And when
Thundering Tempest seeing her there grinned
fatuously, and swung the stinging thongs around
her bare, brown legs, she was not even conscious
of his portly presence.
A week dragged itself slowly through the
heavy present into thc unforgettable past. Twice
had Something come down thc long, lone prairie
trail to watch for a certain Star that, was wont to
rise in the west, and twice as the chill dawn shivered through the prairie grasses had Something
ridden���first angrily, then anxiously���away,
coming and waiting having been in vain.
And Star of the Dawn, her heavy-lidded eyes
looking always eastward, moved about so wearily,
so listlessly, that Thundering Tempest began to
really enjoy life once more, and the pretty brown
ankles of the little squaw were criss-crossed with
great purple welts where the hissing leathern
snakes had curled.
One long week of this. Then one day as Star
of the Dawn lay half-hidden in the grass by the
side of the prairie trail, Something came gaily out
of the eust, fearlessly, openly, in the full light of
the midday sun, and all the horrible blackness of
those seven days dissolved into sudden light as
Star of the Dawn was lifted up into the strong
embrace of Father John's nephew���that rollick-
ing youth in the employ of the H. B. C
But. while he gently upbraided her for her
cruelty and her fickleness, and while he told her
again and again how true and faithful and undying was his love for her, yea, even while she suffer-
ed his hot kisses to fall upon her eyes, her throat,
her brow, her warm red lips, through her heart
rang ceaselessly the warning words of the old,
old Cree who knew: "Thus spoke that other;
thus speak they all, and when red squaw would
follow white chief, always the curse of the Great
Spirit is upon her."
Nevertheless she smiled back at him bravely,
and tucking her ankles under her with a sudden
shame lest he should see the purple marks���her
slavery's shackles���she told him how sad and
unhappy and lonely she was, and asked.him,
since he loved her so truly, if he would take her
back to Father John who would marry them in
the white way approved by the Powers at the
At this an unpleasant expression flashed for a
moment across the handsome white face, then
the man kissed her again, and holding her tight
in his strong arms he explained to her how, although to do this very thing was the one wish of
his heart, there was much that must be settled
first. She was already a wife; her present marriage must be annulled ere another could be con-
tracted; there would be great difficulties to overcome; objections both of chuisch and state to
over-rule. However, great love su.ch as his can
always find a way, and if she would be patient he
would soon have everything arranged.
Then Star of the Dawn nestling closer, made
answer according to that which she had learned
at the mission���toeach man but one wife by the law
of God, pronounced his until death part them, by
behind the tepee learning howto make moccasins,
for Thundering Tempest had been holding
guttural converse with his muscular son and Star
of the Dawn's intuition was whispering to her.
The old squaw so rarely spoke that thc girl
was almost startled when the withered lips opened suddenly and thc music of the Cree fell falter-
ingly from them. Wandering Light made a few
prefactory remarks in which she established two
propositions: first, that the lot of the Indian
woman���daughter, wife, or mother���is to toil, to
suffer, and be still���these three ceaselessly lest a
worse fate befall; second, that though the red
man might beat, and even, under the influence of
the white man's fire-water, maim and kill, yet he
was as an angel of mercy and light (the similes are
not Wandering Light's, but the meaning is) compared with the soft-spoken white devil who promised ease, exemption from toil, many beads and
much joy to the Indian girl who would follow him,
and for his promises gave���then Wandering
Light was silent a moment while she drew in the
heel of the moccasin she was shaping. When she
spoke again, her voice was lower, more faltering,
and she kept her rheumatic old eyes fixed steadfastly on the work before her. She told Star of
the Dawn a story. The dramatis persona: were
an Indian brave, a white man, and two little
squaws not out of their teens. It began cheer-
fully, bathed in the rosy light of love and luminous sunsets, and it told of two little squaws, their
hearts on fire with a flame kindled by the hand of
careless white man, who kept tryst with both and
plighted troth with each. But when he went���
as white men always go���only one maiden followed him. He had not asked the other. Then
as the old Cree woman spoke further, the pearly
love-tints faded from her tale and it became
clothed in the scarlet and black of crime, of vengeance, and of death. And as she listened Star
of the Dawn shivered and drew nearer the shrivelled knees. "How do you know it, Wandering
Light? Were you there to see?" Then Wandering Light with bent head made answer that she
was the little squaw who did not follow because
the authority of church and state; she was
Thundering Tempest's fourth squaw; neither the
strong voice of the Law nor the gentle benediction
of Holy Church had been heard at their union;
therefore, theirs was no true marriage and she was
free to wed with whom she would.
And the white man h,iving no answer to make
to this, and being suddenly overcome by a great
surge of feeling, because on the instant
forgetful of the preemptory orders which his
father, knowing the ways of men, had issued to
him, unmindful of the warnings and veiled
threats of the astute and omni-s.ient Father John,
and drawing the little brown maid yet closer to
him, he vowed by all that he held sacred that she
was his one true love, that her alone would he
wed and that right soon.
Now, Star of the Dawn was very young and
very deeply in love, and the white man looked her
straight in the eyes and his words had the ring of
truth. Slowly the dismal knell of the old Cree's
prophecy faded from her heart.
The.next morning Star of the Dawn was up at
daybreak. In and out of her long black braids
she wove the scarlet flowers for which she had
roved the prairie over. She rifled Wandering
Light's store of colored beads, and hung them in
long, glittering, clinking chains around her plump
throat and twisted them round and round her
dimpled arms; and she showed her little white
teeth in a silent laugh as Thundering Tempest,
whip in hand, rolled himself out into the sunshine.
All day long she sat stitching moccasins beside
Wandering Light, who spoke no word and made
no sign, only pressed her wrinkled lips still more
tightlv together, drew her feeble breath more
painfully when the swaying strings of beads
brushed against her.
She had made her one supreme effort. She
knew, for she was a woman and her dim eyes
could yet see, that she had failed. Yet she was
silent now.    She had spoken.
(Continued on page 8.)


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