"If you have no home, why don't you go home with me?" I asked, looking through the spy-glass. "I know my father and mother would like you the same as I do."
"If I go home with you, I know I'll have a good time, but I haven't any home to ask you to. All the boys in the Big Seven do that way."
"I don't care what the Big Seven do, I want you to go home with me."
Saturday came. At breakfast I was anxious to have prayers over, Brush was to go home with me, and we anticipated much pleasure for the day.
"Don't eat much," I whispered to him; "we're going to eat again when we get home. My mother will give us something good, she always does."
After breakfast Brush went to the barn and filled the stalls with hay for the horses, which was part of the work assigned him. Then he ran up to the superintendent to report, and as soon as he came down we were off.
On the hill we were joined by two white boys, children of one of the Government employees at the mill. "Hello! Going home?" asked one of them. "We're going to the village. They say they're going to have a horse race there to-day. We want to see it."
Instead of taking the well-beaten path to the village, we all turned off into one that led directly to my father's house, and that passed by the burial-place on the bluffs. The two white boys were ahead, and when they came to a freshly made mound surrounded by a neat fence they stopped, and peered between the palings. "Pemmican!" exclaimed one of them. When Brush and I came up, we too looked in and saw on the grave a wooden bowl of pemmican. It was tempting these white boys, for they had learned to like this peculiar food.
"Jack, give me a boost?" said one of them, and soon he was over the fence filling his pockets out of the bowl. Then he offered the remainder to the other boy.