The Log School-House on the Columbia | Page 9

have appeared amusing:
"Behave yourself like a lady," she said, "and remember your bringing
up. Good-morning to ye all."
The little group watched her as she moved safely away. A little black
bear crossed her path as she was entering the wood, and stopped on the
way. But her steps were growing rapid, and, as she did not seem to
regard him as a matter of any consequence, he turned and ran. The
company smiled, and so the peril of the morning seemed to pass away.
The scene would have been comical but for the painful look in the
kindly face of the old Chief of the Cascades. He had come toward the
school-house with high hopes, and what had happened caused him pain.
The word "Potlatch," spoken by the Indian boy, had caused his brow to
cloud and his face to turn dark.
"We will all go into the house," said the master. "Umatilla, will you not
honor us with a visit this morning?"
"No--me come this afternoon for the boy; me wait for him outside.
Boston tilicum, let me speak to you a little. I am a father."
"Yes, and a good father."
"I am a father--you no understand--Boston tilicum--father. I want you
to teach him like a father--not you understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"Father--teacher--you, Boston tilicum."

"Yes, I understand, and I will be a father teacher to your Benjamin."
"I die some day. You understand?"
"Yes, I understand."
"You understand, Boston tilicum, you understand. What I want my boy
to become that I am for my boy. That you be."
"Yes, Umatilla, I believe an Indian's word--you may trust mine. I will
be to your boy what you may have him become. The Indian is true to
his friends. I believe in you. I will be true."
The old chief drew his blanket round him proudly.
"Boston tilicum," said he, "if ever the day of trouble comes, I will
protect you and the log school-house. You may trust my word. Indian
speak true."
The tall schoolmaster bowed.
"Nika atte cepa" (I like you much), said the chief. "Potlatch shall no
harm you. Klahyam klahhye--am!" (Good-by).
Mrs. Woods hurried homeward and tried to calm her excited mind by
singing a very heroic old hymn:
"Come on, my partners in distress, My comrades in the wilderness,
Who still your bodies feel."
The blue skies gleamed before her, and overhead wheeled a golden
eagle. To her it was an emblem, a good omen, and her spirit became
quiet and happy amid all the contradictions of her rough life. She sat
down at last on the log before her door, with the somewhat strange
remark:
"I do hate Injuns; _nevertheless_--"
Mrs. Woods was accustomed to correct the wrong tendencies of her

heart and tongue by this word "nevertheless," which she used as an
incomplete sentence. This "nevertheless" seemed to express her better
self; to correct the rude tendencies of her nature. Had she been educated
in her early days, this tendency to self-correction would have made her
an ideal woman, but she owed nearly all her intellectual training to the
sermons of the Rev. Jason Lee, which she had heard in some obscure
corner of a room, or in Methodist chapel, or under the trees.
Her early experience with the Indians had not made her a friend to the
native races, notwithstanding the missionary labors of the Rev. Jason
Lee. The first Indian that made her a visit on the donation claim did not
leave a favorable impression on her mind.
This Indian had come to her door while she was engaged in the very
hard work of sawing wood. He had never seen a saw before, and, as it
seemed to him to be a part of the woman herself, he approached her
with awe and wonder. That the saw should eat through the wood
appeared to him a veritable miracle.
Mrs. Woods, unaware of her visitor, paused to take breath, looked up,
beheld the tall form with staring eyes, and started back.
"Medicine-woman--conjure!" said the Indian, in Chinook.
Mrs. Woods was filled with terror, but a moment's thought recalled her
resolution. She lifted her hand, and, pointing to the saw in the wood,
she said, with a commanding tone:
"Saw!"
The Indian obeyed awkwardly, and wondering at the progress of the
teeth of the saw through the wood. It was a hot day; the poor Indian
soon became tired, and stopped work with a beating heart and bursting
veins.
"Saw--saw!" said Mrs. Woods, with a sweep of her hands, as though
some mysterious fate depended upon the order.

The saw went very hard now, for he did not know how to use it, and the
wood was hard, and the Indian's only thought seemed to be how to
escape. Mrs. Woods held