We looked at each other and smiled. The reading of the Scripture and the prayer seemed to us to be unusually long, but at last they came to an end. Then every boy hurried and scurried to the carpenter’s shop. Soon dozens of hammers were going crack, crack, and the saws zip, zip.
“Be careful, boys! Look out for nails, or you will ruin your saws,” said the carpenter, and he smiled good-naturedly as he went on marking the boards for the next applicant.
Suddenly, in the midst of all the din someone exclaimed, “Hong!” which is Indian for “Ouch!” and a big boy danced about, shaking his hand violently in the air, then he brought it down and pressed it between his knees, twisting his body into all sorts of shapes, howling the while. The hammering and sawing ceased, and a dozen voices asked, “What’s the matter?” Peter, who was always clumsy in his movements, instead of hitting the nail he was driving, had struck his thumb and smashed it. The traditional “Indian stoicism” was not in him, so he kept up his howling until the carpenter had put on a tobacco poultice and bandaged the injured thumb.
After a lively coasting on our new sleds one afternoon, we were gathered in the schoolroom, and everyone was busy preparing lessons. The arithmetic class was before the blackboard, answering questions put by the teacher.
“Ulysses Grant,” said Graybeard, “suppose the boards, nails, and work upon your sled cost you fifty-five cents, and you sold it to Edwin Stanton for sixty-three cents, what would be your profit?”
Ulysses moved uneasily, then began counting rapidly with his fingers.
“Stop counting your fingers. Do the sum with your head,” said Graybeard.
Just at this moment something like a shadow appeared at one of the windows, and all faces, except Graybeard’s, turned in that direction. We soon made out that the shadow was the face of an Indian boy with his buffalo robe drawn over his head and spread against the glass to exclude the glare of the sun, so as to give him a better view within the room. His black eyes peered at us, and at every object within sight. The figure withdrew; then we heard a voice speaking in our own language, “Come quick! Come and look at them!”
Soon the windows were darkened by dozens of the queerest-looking heads we had ever seen. Over each face hung two long braids. As the boys pressed their noses against the glass, and wrinkled their brows in trying to see, they made the strangest and most comical of pictures. They pushed and climbed over each other in their eagerness to observe what was going on inside. We could not help laughing at their appearance.
Edwin nudged me and whispered, “They’re Ponka boys; they wear their scalp-locks in front, and they always have two.”
“Don’t they look funny?” shouted a Ponka boy at the middle window. “See, see that one!” and he pointed at Warren; “he looks just like a little owl; his hair stands straight up, and he has such big eyes.”
Study became impossible, and the class in arithmetic made horrible blunders. Graybeard was disgusted; in vain he rapped the desk with his ruler; and his patience found a limit when Andrew Johnson said that Ulysses’ profit would be eleven cents, if he sold his sled for sixty-three cents. He gave the boy a vigorous shaking. This act of discipline delighted the little savages at the window; they shouted with laughter and the ends of their little braids fluttered with the breath of every peal. They interspersed their merriment with comments on our appearance, our clothing, and the absence of scalp-locks on our heads.
“What are they saying?” asked Graybeard, looking toward the windows.
“They’re calling us names,” answered Warren, who felt sore at being compared to an owl.
Graybeard went to the door; as he opened it, the intruders ran swiftly to the fence, and sat astride of the top board.
“Get away from here!” said Graybeard, in a loud voice. “Go home!”
“How do do! Goo-by!” shouted back some of the little rascals with boisterous jeers.
“Class in history,” called Graybeard as he closed the door; and a number of us stood in line at the usual place.
“Philip Sheridan, can you tell me something of George Washington?”
All eyes turned toward the youngster who answered to the name of George Washington, and who, neglecting his lessons, was now busy drawing on his slate a caricature of a boy against whom he had a grudge. Hearing his name, and thinking he had been caught in his mischief, he looked up with a startled expression, and rose to make a denial, when Sheridan, fixing his eyes upon him, slowly answered, “He chopped his father’s chokecherry-tree.”
The little savages returned to the windows, and began chattering noisily. Suddenly a number of them stood in line, imitating the history class, while one of the big boys took a place before them, mimicking the actions of Graybeard and the tones of his voice, by giving the peculiar rhythm of English to his own Indian words.
“Ahʻ-bru-zhe-dae!” he asked; “do you ever wash your face?” And the make-believe class went into fits of laughter.
“Ten sleeps ago,” angrily retorted the boy addressed, “you stole some honey, and the smirches of it are still on your face!”
The boys were convulsed at this reply, and so were the boys in the schoolroom; but the mock teacher took a different view of the matter, and sprang at his impudent pupil, boxing his ears, whereat the two fell on each other in a lively tussle. We stretched our necks to see the struggle, and Graybeard also watched the scene.
All at once a Ponka boy shouted, “I’ve found something! Come, come!” and the crowd moved away, leaving the two to
