"We ran away for a little holiday just by
ourselves. I would not have missed it for the world." Then, more
seriously, he added, "Gentlemen, if I could think that my Prime Minister
and the Government at Ottawa could steer the Ship of State as splendidly
as Bobbie steered that canoe, I would never have another wrinkle on my
forehead or another grey hair on my head."
Little Wolf-Willow
Old Beaver-tail hated many things, but most of all he hated the
North-West Mounted Police. Not that they had ever molested or worried
him in his far corner of the Crooked Lakes Indian Reserve, but they
stood for the enforcing of the white man's laws, and old Beaver-Tail
hated the white man. He would sit for hours together in his big
tepee counting his piles of furs, smoking, grumbling and storming at
the inroads of the palefaces on to his lands and hunting grounds.
Consequently it was an amazing surprise to everybody when he consented
to let his eldest son, Little Wolf-Willow, go away to attend the Indian
School in far-off Manitoba. But old Beaver-Tail explained with rare
appreciation his reasons for this consent.
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