"Well, how about a 'white' name?" asked Mr. Enderby. "The other boys have taken them. Wouldn't you like me to call you John? I'd like to."
"Me Wolf-Willow, same grandfather," came in tones of pronounced decision.
"Very well, Little Wolf-Willow, you must do as you like, you know; but you said when you came in that you liked me, and I like you very much. Perhaps some day you will do these things to please me." Then Mr. Enderby added softly to himself, "It will all come in time. It is pretty hard to ask any boy to give up his language, his clothes, his customs, his old-time way of living, his name, even the church of his fathers. I must have patience, patience?"
"You speak?" asked the boy.
"Just to myself," said Mr. Enderby.
"I speak," said the little Indian, standing up and looking fearlessly
into the superintendent's face. "I speak. I keep hair, good. I keep name
Wolf-Willow, good. I keep skin Indian color. I not white man's skin.
English skin no good. My skin best, good."
Mr. Enderby laughed. "No, no, Little Wolf-Willow, we won't try to change the color of your skin," he said.
"No good try. I keep skin, better skin than white man. I keep skin, me."
And the next instant he was gone.
Miss Watson, the matron, appeared at the door. "What have you done to Little Wolf-Willow?" she asked in surprise. "Why, he is careering down the hall at a breakneck speed."
"I believe the child thought I was going to skin him, to make a white boy out of him," laughed Mr. Enderby.