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Show I lDAe7 Christmas I r - fcg. VV V?: ' ;"r ! J ' '" - I w : 1 x v ' j ! ! it . ! - ' l! I V" . . - ' : i 1 S rt xT' i - v - f i - I i r v- j a ? t , . ! a I i-i; . . .. ' i vryr-r II O S E okslieda wasl.da srrwtins of the plump little Scotch Canadian " niotlicT as tlie sunny- Iiaircd yotin; laddie came running into the hitchon, v.hfi'e alreaily the porridge was cooksd and the tea brew-ins brew-ins f'ir breakfast on Un, his second sec-ond Christmas. She cauj-'ht him in her arms and tossed him high above her head. "Whose very good boy:" was what she had said, partly In the lanzuaye she had learned from her hu.-band. His nurse had been one of those squaws of the picturesque type still to be seen In Manitoba. In summer they come, selling wild red raspberries or choke-cherries ; in winter, tnidsln on snowshoes Into the village to visit their customers. nuking the little lad to her breast, the rosy mother half sobbed as she tried to say It cheerfully, "Whose oUsheda washda daw?" Even as she repeated the greeting, the door swung open and a sudden gust of wind swept the fine, dry snow, like biting dust, in'o iier face. Hefore her stood one of these old Indian In-dian women, apparently ap-parently exhausted exhaust-ed from a Ion? journey through the storm. "Okslicjj w a s h d a daw?" she gasped, then continued In her native tongue, ' Wh'hyenna, you speak the language lan-guage of my people. peo-ple. Von speak the, cry of my heart. Last Jilght I read It in the t a I nliow - hue d si reamers of light from the north the night wind sang It okshedn I" The wrinkle. 1 old fa-e Iwkted lulu n pained smile uh she sank In u heap by the l:lt.,eri lire. A bit of paper 'ulleicrl to the lloor from her hand. "The Creat fcphit rnNs-it is the end ,( the trail," She whispered as Hie Hill" mother tent over her, ntrdon l.y rlmling le r hiinTi. ."'.he saw Hie f . i 1 c!d eyes suddenly brighten, then close suddenly it was the end of the trail. "See, see," said the little lad, holding hold-ing up the scrap of paper which had fallen from the squaw's hand, opening open-ing it reverently, the Canadian woman wom-an exclaimed, ".My eerie! It's an ill wind that biaws nobody guid, sure enough. 1 1-r oksheda :" She rushed into the living room, where her "oksheda wechala" (married (mar-ried boy) was lighting the candles on the scantily decorated ("hrl.-t mas tree. "Look, Kobort, on Chri.-linas lay it l;as come. The mystery and all see! It is the okshe.hi's Christmas:" she exclaimed, as she gave him tic erumplei paper to read. Itobert had been found when a baby by a band of Indians. Only the old squaw who had come to the end of the tr.ail this Christmas morning kie-w the paper existed. All night long in the blinding snow storm she had traveled trav-eled on her snowshoes traveled that she might find some one to whom she could tell the story. All these years she had guarded the paper, which she could not read, feeling feel-ing that in some way It would bring good fortune for-tune to the oksheda ok-sheda who had seemed her very own little white baby She had loved him so. She was afraid to show the paper to her people the paper she had found hidden in his clothing. She was afraid she might lose him If they knew. Then ono day he wandered wan-dered out of her sight and the M. I. had found him by the lake alone. No white man was found to claim him. The Indians were afraid to. Their while brothers would ask lliem to explain and often their while brothers did not believe. Ills fosler mother loved him; but she, too, was afraid. So she hugged the bit of paper to her heart and kept silent vigil. The M. I'. took the lad home and hired nn Indian nurse from the settlement settle-ment to rare for hlin. Every summer the old squaw came with her pail of rul raspberries, only to grunt her tjianks ami look furtively about Ikt to assure herself Hint all was well with the boy, then chuckle to herself as she patted hrr breast where the precious paper lay. In winter she would sometimes look through the open spacer n the frost covered win- dows to see the randies on the Christ-Mas Christ-Mas tree and c" her oksheihi dancing wit ii Joy. The n came the wedding, and for three years she bail not known where to bud the "oksheda wechasta." '1 lie paper ah, yes. It told wdio Hubert was. His father had been a second son from I icvotishlre, who had sought his fortune In the great Northwest. North-west. It told how the young wife could not stand the hardships; how the father, too, had surrendered to the storm-king's fury one Christmas live; how he had cached his rich llnd under the rock tlt resembled the ovfl near the source of the river; how he had wrapped his greatcoat about wee Kobort and prayed the Croat Spirit to save li 1 in. "A great Ohilslmas for us all, Hubert; Hub-ert; but It Is the oksheda I'm thinking think-ing of most. With the war come and the business gone, there wasn't to be much Christinas but now I See, laddie, lad-die, the storm Is breaking; (he sun Is beginning to shine. My eerie! My eerie !" "Then-, there, lassie, here comes the little shaver. Mind you don't b t him In here till I go to the store again. There are toys and things to be put on the tree. The way It's come to ns on Christmas, I know we'll find the gold." When Hie snovs incited they made Hie Journey together. This year, lis usual, Hie oksheihi wllh the golden curls ami Ihe okshedu wochaslu with the black mustmhe are Irlinmlng the gorgeous tree Hint stands In Ihe bay window of the beautiful farmhouse near Ihe river's source. Tim sleigh bells Jingle merrily ns the cutter slops outside wllh a load of Utile Indian In-dian boys from the scl I lenient, who are brought each year I share thn festival of the "Oltsheihi's Christmas." And down by thn brink of the river Is the rock (hat. resembles an owl. (10. W.Hl..rn Nmnimtm l;nl..n.) |
