tailieunhanh - Sách AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES

A wigwam of weather-stained canvas stood at the base of some irregularly ascending hills. A footpath wound its way gently down the sloping land till it reached the broad river bottom; creeping through the long swamp grasses that bent over it on either side, it came out on the edge of the Missouri. Here, morning, noon, and evening, my mother came to draw water from the muddy stream for our household use. Always, when my mother started for the river, I stopped my play to run along with her. She was only of medium height. Often she was sad. | AMERICAN INDIAN STORIES BY ZITKALA-SA Gertrude Bonnin Dakota Sioux Indian Lecturer Author of Old Indian Legends Americanize The First American and other stories Member of the Woman s National Foundation League of American Pen-Women and the Washington Salon There is no great there is no small in the mind that causeth all 1921 CONTENTS Impressions of an Indian Childhood The School Days of an Indian Girl An Indian Teacher Among Indians The Great Spirit The Soft-Hearted Sioux The Trial Path A Warrior s Daughter A Dream of Her Grandfather The Widespread Enigma of Blue-Star Woman America s Indian Problem IMPRESSIONS OF AN INDIAN CHILDHOOD I. MY MOTHER. A wigwam of weather-stained canvas stood at the base of some irregularly ascending hills. A footpath wound its way gently down the sloping land till it reached the broad river bottom creeping through the long swamp grasses that bent over it on either side it came out on the edge of the Missouri. Here morning noon and evening my mother came to draw water from the muddy stream for our household use. Always when my mother started for the river I stopped my play to run along with her. She was only of medium height. Often she was sad and silent at which times her full arched lips were compressed into hard and bitter lines and shadows fell under her black eyes. Then I clung to her hand and begged to know what made the tears fall. Hush my little daughter must never talk about my tears and smiling through them she patted my head and said Now let me see how fast you can run today. Whereupon I tore away at my highest possible speed with my long black hair blowing in the breeze. I was a wild little girl of seven. Loosely clad in a slip of brown buckskin and lightfooted with a pair of soft moccasins on my feet I was as free as the wind that blew my hair and no less spirited than a bounding deer. These were my mother s pride my wild freedom and overflowing spirits. She taught me no fear save that of intruding myself upon others. Having

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• Americanize The First American
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• native american ebook
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