By the time his second school year began the “Sparkling Waters” had absolutely claimed him. In his possession he had countless traps, several guns and an Indian dugout canoe.
Actually being of Indian-strain himself, it is little wonder that Jim Curwood haunted the lakes, streams and wilds. His maternal grandmother had been a full-blooded Mohawk Indian princess. This was, perhaps, a prime factor in his urge to isolate himself in the wilderness which had left its imprint embedded deep in his heart. But he was also a direct descendant of Captain Frederick A. Marrayat, world famous novelist and seaman, and Jimmy’s paternal grandfather.
So it is understandable how, of all the students at Owosso public schools, perhaps the most difficult and indignant one was James Oliver Curwood. When he was not present in school he was either writing tales of the wilds, or living them along the banks of the rivers nearby. In fact he had absented himself from classes on many occasions to devote more time to his stories. Jim Curwood finally developed into a real problem for his teachers in high school.
One day as he quietly came tip-toeing to his seat while Professor Austin was in the middle of an invocation, the teacher caught sight of him and completed what he had to say with: “And dear Lord, we thank Thee for returning Nimrod safely to us this morning.” From that day forward his nickname at school was “Nimrod.”
It was during the first winter of his return to Owosso that Jim received an important letter from his father in Ohio. The elder Curwood wrote that, unless he could find some way to get back to Owosso to make a living, he, Jimmy, would have to come back to the farm. His mother missed him terribly and yearned to have her baby son back in her home.
Both sister Amy and Jim were overjoyed. But the young boy was torn between love and duty. The little farm was tugging at his heartstrings once more as were his “Sparkling Waters” here in Owosso. Still, he had his duty to his parents to consider, and if they remained on the little farm, he just could not make up his mind what he preferred to do.
The letter from his father had brought back memories that heretofore he had tried to conceal. Now he yearned for the old farm, his dog Jack, his parents and last, but far from least, Jeanne and Skinny. But he loved his Owosso and its surroundings, he loved his river and his wilderness with a burning, flaming passion. What was he to do? Sister Amy simply told him to wait until they saw how things were going to shape up.
From that time on until the arrival of spring Amy and Jim received but one letter from their parents. Then one warm, spring day in April, who should arrive at Amy’s home than Mr. and Mrs. Curwood, with Jim’s other sister, Cora. It was such a pleasant surprise.
Once again father Curwood established himself in a little cobbling shop with the front all painted a fiery red. He was taking up where he had left off eight years before.
Brother Ed had remained behind to run the farm, so that in the event that things did not go so good for his father in Owosso, the family would then have something to fall back upon.