And the stricken mothers sat with haggard faces and unseeing eyes; they took no comfort in the knowledge that the implacable white man had fled with the blue-coated warriors.
THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE
THE NEW MEDICINE HOUSE
The spring had been cold and wet, and pneumonia was common throughout the reservation on the Rosebud, and yet the trained nurse whom the government had sent out to preside over the little school hospital had little to do.
She was a grimly conscientious person, but not lovable. Men had not considered her in their home plans, and a tragic melancholy darkened her thin, plain visage, and loneliness added something hard and repellent to her devotional nature. She considered herself a martyr, one carried to far countries for the love of the gentle Galilean. She never complained vocably, but her stooping walk, her downcast eyes, and her oft-bitten lips revealed her discontent with great clearness to the red people, who interpret such signs by instinct.
“Why does she come here?” asked reflective old Tah-You, the sage of the camp on the Rosebud.
“She comes to do you good, to give your children medicine when they are sick,” replied the subagent, speaking in signs.
“She is not happy. Send her away. We do not need her. I am medicine giver.”