A very short time after we were settled in our new home at the Agency, we attempted the commencement of a little Sunday School. Edwin, Harry and Josette, were our most reliable scholars, but besides them, there were the two little Manaigres, Therese Paquette, and her mother’s half sister, Florence Courville, a pretty young girl of fifteen. None of these girls had even learned their letters. They spoke only French, or rather, the Canadian patois,[[88]] and it was exceedingly difficult to give them at once the sound of the words, and their signification, which they were careful to inquire. Besides this, there was the task of correcting the false ideas, and remedying the ignorance and superstition which presented so formidable an obstacle to rational improvement. We did our best, however, and had the satisfaction of seeing them, after a time, making really respectable progress with their spelling-book, and what was still more encouraging, acquiring a degree of light and knowledge in regard to better things.
In process of time, however, Florence was often absent from her class. “Her sister,” she said, “could not always spare her. She wanted her to keep house while she, herself, went over on Sunday to visit her friends, the Roys, who lived on the Wisconsin.”
We reasoned with Madam Paquette on the subject. “Could she not spare Florence on some hour of the day? We would gladly teach her on a week day, for she seemed anxious to learn, but we had always been told that for that there was no time.”
“Well—she would see. Madame Allum (Helm) and Madame John, were so kind!”
There was no improvement, however, in regularity. After a time Manaigre was induced to send his children to Mr. Cadle’s mission-school at Green Bay.[[89]] Therese accompanied them, and very soon Florence discontinued her attendance altogether.
We were obliged, from that time forward, to confine our instructions to our own domestic circle.