see the folly of it."

Again, though she stopped to hear what I might say, I was silent.

"My child, there is only one source of justice, and I have been praying
steadfastly to the Great Spirit to avenge our wrongs," she said, seeing
I did not move my lips.

My shattered energy was unable to hold longer any faith, and I cried out
desperately: "Mother, don't pray again! The Great Spirit does not care
if we live or die! Let us not look for good or justice: then we shall
not be disappointed!"

"Sh! my child, do not talk so madly. There is Taku Iyotan Wasaka,[1] to
which I pray," she answered, as she stroked my head again as she used to
do when I was a smaller child.

[Footnote 1: An absolute Power.]




III.

MY MOTHER'S CURSE UPON WHITE SETTLERS.


One black night mother and I sat alone in the dim starlight, in front of
our wigwam. We were facing the river, as we talked about the shrinking
limits of the village. She told me about the poverty-stricken white