VII.

INCURRING MY MOTHER'S DISPLEASURE.


In the second journey to the East I had not come without some
precautions. I had a secret interview with one of our best medicine men,
and when I left his wigwam I carried securely in my sleeve a tiny bunch
of magic roots. This possession assured me of friends wherever I should
go. So absolutely did I believe in its charms that I wore it through all
the school routine for more than a year. Then, before I lost my faith in
the dead roots, I lost the little buckskin bag containing all my good
luck.

At the close of this second term of three years I was the proud owner of
my first diploma. The following autumn I ventured upon a college career
against my mother's will.

I had written for her approval, but in her reply I found no
encouragement. She called my notice to her neighbors' children, who had
completed their education in three years. They had returned to their
homes, and were then talking English with the frontier settlers. Her few
words hinted that I had better give up my slow attempt to learn the
white man's ways, and be content to roam over the prairies and find my
living upon wild roots. I silenced her by deliberate disobedience.