The News-Herald. [volume] (Hillsboro, Highland Co., Ohio) 1886-1973, 1899-07-06
THE GREAT INDIAN CHIEF
BY Hattie e. Briggs.

|
of her age in her own home, DR.. Walline
lived SO near by that the children oi
both houses were almost constantly TO-
| gether.
! Brothers are not always such com.
! fort, Vie," Jessie often said, in burst
| of confidence. Harry is good to me-
and all that, but he. leases me SO that
sometimes just hate him. They think
themselves SO superior, too, If they hap.
! pen to be little older than their sis
ters."
Certain women in the neighborhood
disapproved of the fact that Vira and
Jessie spent so much time in the society
of Harry Walling, saying it made girls
rough to play with boys, but when the
fathers of the girls were appealed to,
they said:
Let the youngsters alone. They'll
realize the responsibilities of life soon
enough; let them have good time
while they can"
While the girls could join Harry in
most of his sports, they still had their
playhouse and dolls, and spent many
happy hours every day over their play
housekeeping.
jessie" asked vira one day, while
sitting under the old snow-apple tree
in the Stephensons' back yard. with
their family of dolls about them, IF
you were not just yourself. who would
you like to be?"
well, l don't know" answered her
companion, thoughtfully, sometimes
think l would like to be great singer,
SO could charm the whole world, but
/ guess l had about as soon be one Of
the Thomas children as anybody
know"
why, Jessie Wallingl" cried Vira,
shocked at the frankness of her reply.
There are ten in that family, and they
are dreadfully poor"
II know it," complacently responded
Jessie, "but what fun they have. They
take their tame chicken right into the
house, and they never have to keep
their room tidy, and nobody ever
speaks to them about their table man
ners or"
Hello, girls!" cried voice from out
the apple blossoms, want to go and
i've with the Thomas family, do you"
and Harry Walling descended from the
old tree.
1T isn't very nice to be listening,
Harry Waling," cried Vira, between
whom and the boy there was usually
good-natured warfare.
II was there first, reading, when you
came, Miss Propriety," responded Har-
ry. "Yes, it was an Indian story" in
answer to question from his sister,
"and how I wish I might have seen
some of those old warriors-Pontiac, or
Newaygo, or"
well, didn't like them," stoutly af-
firmed Vira. '.They were wicked and
cruel and killed white folks and stole
children. If the biggest chief that ever
lived should walk into this yard this
minute would order him out as quick
ly as could speak,"
"And l would help you," assented
Jessie as the two strolled away arm in
arm while Harry seated himself to fin
ish his story.
That afternoon while the girls were
on the porch, Vira heard determined
knock at the kitchen door. No one else
was in the house. She went into the
hall and out through the dining room,
Jessie following close behind. She
threw open the door, and there stood
an object which fairly froze the blood
in her veins. Towering far above her,
dressed in all the trappihgs which be-
tokened prince among red men, stood
an Indian chief, looking darkly at the
girls.
"Why-why, good afternoon" gasped
Vira.
DO" was the laconic response, and
the Indian stalked into the kitchen.
seeming to completely fill it by his
towering height and broad shoulders.
ma home? Pa home ?" he inquired,
in a cultural tone.
mo, Mr.. Indian" spoke up Jessie,
bravely, Uncle Harry is downtown,
and it you want to see him you better
go right down there"
Lii white squaw 'fraid?" he
laughed, scornfully. "Me much big
chief. Me Newaygo. Me kill tree, four
white men. Ugh!" And the Indian
laughed loudly, and then glared at the
girls SO fiercely that they hung onto
each other in speechless terror.
You Injun?" he suddenly asked,
looking sharply at Vira, and reaching
to feel her long black braids. Big
scalp. Long hair. Face dark like In
jun."
NO. I'm not an Indian" returned
the girl, feeling that her life depended
on her politeness to the chief. "I'm Mr..
Harry Stephenson's daughter"
mo. You Injun. Me make you In
jun. My squaw learn you make bead
work and baskets and cook for Injun,
ugh" and again the Indians awful
laugh resounded through the kitchen.
me want eat" he grunted, after a
moments silence, pointing toward the
cookstove.
what do you want to eat?" polite
ly inquired Vira, as Jennie made a
dart toward the woodbox, where kind
linn >a1x -