To acknowledge any change to her faithful teacher was foreign to her proud nature. When once again, however, in the cold night air she looked for a time towards the dimly lighted saloon, and then made her way slowly to the Indian lodge which was her temporary home. The sight of the sad look on the missionary's face stood out clear and distinct as she lay that night beneath her blankets. Another Face, too, often came before her, weary, and blood-stained from the cruel crown of thorns.
No picture had affected her so much as the one she had often gazed upon, in the school room, of the Saviour hanging on the cross. Over and over again she had sketched it until every detail was indelibly impressed upon her heart. The weary face; the nail-pierced hands and feet; the mocking crowd, had mingled with her dreams, and her passionate resolve, but never until this night had the meaning of it all stood out so real and distinct.
During the days that followed Jennie fought a stern battle. At times the old longing almost gained the mastery, and she would draw forth the knife, but always to return it to its hiding place among the bundle of rags. Sometimes she watched Pritchen's movements with a strange fascination, when the wild nature would reassert itself until crushed back again by a mighty effort.
The result of this stern struggle was very apparent on this bright afternoon as the maiden busied herself with the sketches. Her face, almost radiant, revealed the heart within, an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.
When the pictures had been arranged to her satisfaction, she arose and began to array herself in her finest dress, kept only for the most important occasions. It took her some time to complete her costume, and often she glanced at herself in a small broken mirror, with all the pride of some society belle preparing for a grand ball. Finally over her head and shoulders she threw a small bright-coloured shawl, a present from the Christmas tree two years before.
Seizing the pictures in her hand, and drawing the wrap firmly around her body, she left the lodge, glided swiftly and noiselessly down the trail leading to the white settlement, and after a while turned sharply to the left. A queer little bundle she presented as she mounted the hill leading to the Radhurst cabin. Timidly she knocked upon the door, and when Constance had thrown it open, she stepped into the building without a word and seated herself upon the edge of the first stool which caught her attention. Her little black eyes instinctively drank in every object in the room, from the pictures on the wall to the white-haired man sitting by the window with a book in his hand.
But Constance formed the chief attraction. White men were no novelty to her, but a pale-face woman was something new, and worth studying. She had seen her every Sunday at the church, sitting at the little harmonium, and had been held spellbound by her sweet rich voice joining in the singing. She associated Constance with that strange world, the glorious dreamland, which filled so much of her life, and of which the bell was an important factor. From her seat in the back of the church she would look at her own hands, and notice how dark they were, compared with the organist's fair white ones. Returning to the lodge she would gaze long and earnestly into the broken mirror, and wonder why her face was not like the white woman's. Much time did she spend in her efforts to arrange her hair in the same fluffy way with wavy tresses crowning cheek and brow like the object of her admiration. But, poor child, the more she tried the less she succeeded, for her straight black hair proved too intractable, and refused any other method than the long braid, or its wild abandoned condition.
For a time Constance continued the sewing upon which she was engaged, and addressed no word to the maiden. She had often heard of this Indian characteristic of silence when first entering a building, and wished to prove it for herself. But when at length Jennie drew forth her treasure from beneath her shawl, and uttered the broken word "peejee," Constance looked up.
"What is it?" she asked kindly, going over to where the girl was sitting.
"Peejee. See, nice peejee," and Jennie held out her hand.