&&000 CANADIAN SCHOOLBOOKS                                                                   CA607.TXT
GRADE 7 during the 1960s
Sampled from OISE/UT TORONTO BY DPH 10=9-10 DEC 2003
1ST EDITED BY DPH 21 DEC 2003
Re-edited on 21 June 2005

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The name of this four-foot-five chief literally means "Little Butterfly." In his close-knit
community there is no place or reason for jealousy, envy, or hatred. Its fifty-six members can
depend on no mercy from nature, on no outside assistance to help them overcome the fearful
odds presented by every day. Each of them freely gives something to all. From all the others each
individual freely gets what they best can give him.
There are three old men who cannot hunt any longer. One is =Makulu-Kulu's father, the tribe's
former chief, and his two brothers. They give their counsel, the fruits of their wisdom,
experience, and knowledge. And highly honored are they. Respectfully they are listened to. All
their needs are tenderly cared for.
=Makulu-Kulu became his tribe's chief when his father grew too old-not because he was the
oldest son, but because he was the ablest and the bravest of men.
As the tribe's sultan, he guides his hunters on the trail and directs them in the attack. He is the
first in moments of great danger, the last in a perilous retreat. The welfare of the whole tribe is
his burden, and he must see that fifty-five other stomachs are kept well filled. He decides what
should be set aside for bartering with the Bantus living at the edge of the jungle, leads the many
day-long journeys to their villages, and, once there, it is he who dramatically does all the
bargaining. He approves of marriages and decides the name of the newborn. He supervises the
burying of the dead. Over each grave, a simple hole in the ground at half a day of march from
where the tribe is at the time, he builds the altar of =Muungu, some arched sticks covered with
magongo leaves-in which he places offerings of meat and wild tumbako so that Muungu will be
sure to come and take the dead's spirit into the great hunting territories of the above.
And as he, =Makulu-Kulu, does more and better than anybody else, so he gets twice whatever
anyone else receives or conquers. Which accounts for his being the only one in the tribe who has
three wives. That represents a triple ration of worry. But it means also a triple source of service
and comfort and children. The tribe's little ones, eight plump babies still carried on their.


directions, and wolves and lynxes prowl after them all through the neighboring woods on foot.
As for seeing aborigines, no place can be more advantageous. Seven of the most important and
warlike tribes on the continent are in constant communication with the fort, which is situated in
the country of the =Crees and =Assiniboines, and is visited at least twice in the year by the
=Blackfeet, =Sar-cees, =Gros-vents, =Pay-gans, and =Blood Indians, who come to sell the dried
buffalo meat and fat for making pemmican which is prepared in large quantities for the supply of
the other posts.
The buffalo are extremely numerous this winter, and several had been shot within a few hundred
yards of the fort. The men had already commenced gathering their supply of fresh meat for the
summer in the ice-pit. This is made by digging a square hole, capable of containing =700 or =800
carcases. As soon as the ice in the river is of sufficient thickness, it is cut into square blocks of
uniform size with saws; with these blocks the floor of the pit is regularly paved, and the blocks
cemented together by pouring water in between them, and allowing it to freeze solid. In like
manner, the walls are solidly built up to the surface of the ground.
The head and feet of the buffalo, when killed, are cut off, and the
carcase, without being skinned, is divided into quarters, and piled
in layers in the pit as brought in, until it is filled up, when the
whole is covered with a thick coating of straw, which is again
protected from the sun and rain by a shed. In this manner the
meat keeps perfectly good through the whole summer and eats
much better than fresh killed meat, being more tender and better flavored.
Shortly after my arrival, Mr =Harriet, myself, and two or three gentlemen of the establishment,
prepared for a buffalo hunt. We had our choice of splendid horses, as about a dozen are selected
and kept in stables for the gentlemen's use from the wild band of =700 or =800, which roam
about the fort, and forage for themselves through the winter, by scraping the snow away from the
long grass with their hoofs. These horses have only one man to take care of them, who is called
the horse keeper; he follows them about and encamps near them with his family, turning the band
should.



many a long hour Lord =Durham, Imperial High Commissioner, and Governor General of
=BritishNorthAmerica, had been writing at his oaken table. Night had again restored silence to
the Castle =Haldimand, and only the dull ticking of the tall clock maintained the life of things in
the large room devoted to office, work.
On the corner of a table loaded with books and papers, the flickering light from a bronze
candelabrum was carving and scattering shadows, giving strange relief to the leopard supporters
of the oval crown on the high chimney-piece. The face of the Governor seemed strained by
inward effort, in the near light of the candles. His bright intelligent eyes, his firmly closed mouth,
the two wrinkles springing from the sides of his nose and curving to each side of his lips, marked
the striking Byronic expression of this renowned =English Minister. On this cool September
night he had thrown over his shoulders an ample cloak with a fur collar from which a little chain
held by a sapphire was hanging negligently.
Lord =Durham suddenly rose and went towards the open window. Once again the incomparable
panorama, which from the very first evening had delighted his artistic soul, took possession of
his eyes, released the strain of his brain, relaxed his overtired nerves. The ruins of the Chauteau
=SaintLouis were tragically huddled under his eyes. But for this the new comer, for this =English
peer, the burnt remnants to which the old citizens of =Quebec came daily to dream, had no voice.
Yet these crumbled walls summed up the brilliant colonial adventure of =France in =America, its
hopes and its agony. But, what did that mean for him? He had been only since last May in a
country which was known to him merely in its political features. Entrusted with the mission of
study with a view to pacification, he wished to discharge it without being.


"It is now two hundred years ago, your Excellency, that heroism wrote this story on the shore of
the =SaintLawrence. The daughter of Monsieur and Madame =deVercheres lived with her
parents in one of those primitive forts, simple palisades surrounding the church and the
dwellings, which were then the advance outposts of =French civilization on this continent. It was
the time when the =Iroquois ranged everywhere, when every bush might hide a tiger with a
human face, when every Colonist must be a soldier. In this rude school, hearts became like
tempered steel, and souls unfolded and spread out like banners in the breeze.
"Then on a day when Monsieur and Madame =deVercheres were both away, the one at
=Montreal, and the other at =Quebec, the war cry of the =Iroquois rang out from the edge of the
forest. In an instant twenty harvesters, surprised amongst their sheaves, are massacred and
scalped. =Madeleine is on the shore. Some one cries `Save yourself!' Raising her head, she
perceives the hideous tattooed faces a hundred paces away from her. Without losing her nerve,
she turns and dashes into the fort, seeing the door open.
"And here, your Excellency, really commences that incredible exploit, as fine as an old-time
fable! The fort is defenseless, all its garrison being worn-out old men, frantic women, crying
children, and two soldiers half dead with fright, who talk of setting off the powder magazine. But
Madeleine is of that magnificent blood which knows no fear! Instinctively she takes command of
all this feeble crew. `Remember,' she said to her two little brothers, to whom she had just given a
gun, `Remember that the sons of gentlemen are born to shed their blood for God and the King!'
And immediately, your Excellency, this little girl of fourteen, wearing a feathered felt hat,
appeared on the bastion."
"The adventure, indeed, is not lacking in the picturesque! Please continue!"
"And =Madeleine, with admirable decision and intelligence, organizes the garrison, giving to
some their guns, to others sympathy, and to everyone courage. Everywhere at once, taking here
and there a shot to fell an Iroquois more venturesome than the others, she succeeded in assuring
the =Indians that they were doing business with a strong party.


the deck of his keel boat drifting down river and shoot the curl out of a baby pig's tail as it rested
peacefully against his baby hams in the clear =Ohio air. They say he did it so often that to this
day there's a breed of =Ohio pigs that have straight tails from birth and that this fact is due to
Mike's having shot the curls out of the tails of their parents: They also say that =Mike used to
shoot the topknots off wild =Indians war whooping among the sycamores on the =Indiana bank.
Most gracefully, too, he used his bullets to lift the combs out of the carefully done-up tresses of
lovely southern =zzzz  they strolled along the old =Kentucky shore.
But the other arguers are just as sure that =Mike's real gift was for jumping. They say that when
the current was swift he had been known to take off from his forward deck just as his keel boat
neared an island and come down on his afterdeck near the sweep at the stern just as the boat left
the island behind.
Then some who have heard this tale before shake their heads and say the teller has left out the
best part of it-that while =Mike was in the middle of his jump over the island a farmer down
below took him for a chicken hawk and, lifting his gun, let go at him. Luckily =Mike had seen
the quick move below and trained his own gun, which he had forgotten to leave behind, on the
farmer. Both men fired at the same moment and the two bullets were so well aimed that they met
in mid-air and dropped to earth-killing on the way a large black bear that was perched in a honey
tree.
Both sides of the argument use the best-known of all the =MikeFink jumping stories to prove that
they are right, and it is very hard to decide which side wins, for a lot depends on how the tale is
told. It all began when =Mike bragged that he could jump the =Mississippi River at the point
where the =Ohio comes into it.
"You mean you could take off from =Cairo, =Illinois, and come down at =BirdsPoint?" said a
flat boatman.
"That's just like a flat boatman," said =Mike, "always belittling the natural gifts of men smart
enough to load their stuff into a boat with a sharp edge down the middle."
"If you can do it I'll buy me a keel boat instead of this broadhorn," said the flat boatman.


With his leather mitt he scooped up a handful of dry powdery snow, and rubbed the side of his
nose until a glow of renewed circulation reassured him.
The second mile was not so easy. The wind appeared to be rising rather than falling, and an
occasional gust now seemed to be striking him more fully in the face. It was veering to the
northwest. The drifts were knee-high in some places. Other parts of the trail were bare, swept
down to the dry frozen soil by the wind. sky, which had been clearing when he set out, and had
promised in a few minutes to reveal the whereabouts of the sun, began to cloud over more
heavily again.
When he came to the corner posts, just visible through the flying snow, which marked the
beginning of the third mile, =David paused a moment with his back to the wind, beating his arms
to keep them warm. He was not so confident, now, that he could manage it. The two miles had
taken a good deal more of his strength than he believed possible. His fingers were numb; his feet
were beginning to torture him. Should he turn back, perhaps, and wait until the next day?
Difficult as it was to face the icy gale, it was harder still for him to turn back and admit defeat.
He recalled that there were two or three farm-houses near the road as he progressed toward
=Stavely. If worse came to worst, he would drop in and get warm at one of them, or even stay
there for the night.
There was no one else on the road. The prairie was one vast howling chaos of snow. The storm
blotted out the =Rockies on the far western horizon, the friendly Foothills which rose just the
other side of =Stavely, the insignificant settlements which dotted the immensity here and there,
even the cedar and willow posts of the fences which he followed. The wind was definitely
switching to the west, which vastly increased the labor of walking. It was more difficult, now, to
protect his cheeks and nose from the knifelike edge of the wind. He had to stop more often and
rub his face with snow.
With the dogged perseverance which was so large an element in his disposition, he continued to
plunge through the drifts, his



Slowly his gaze roved the room. Everything looked reassuringly normal. The flickering shadows
on the walls the fire crackling in the cookstove, his mother measuring the breakfast coffee, his
clothes on the soap-box chair beside him. Wide awake, he thrust the covers aside in a benumbing
recollection.

His pants! He stared at them somberly; they were the only warm pair he possessed, and the day
before they had gone to pieces. He had not torn them. He had been just as careful as he could be,
because for weeks they had been darned, patched, and the patches subsequently redarned. But
late Sunday evening they had collapsed completely. And nothing, his mother had concluded
regretfully, could be done about them. Nothing but wait until the end of the week, by which time
she might be able to buy him a new pair.
=Juan had heard her decision in sinking consternation. Couldn't she, he had implored desperately,
take some of the rent money and get him the new pair, right away?
Dubiously =Francesca had taken the cracked vase from the corner shrine and counted her cash.
She washed and ironed in the homes of =American senora who paid her a dollar and a half a day,
but recently regular jobs had been getting scarce. No-she had sighed uneasily as she replaced the
money-pants or no pants, she could not touch it. He must wait until the end of the week.
Juan's eyes had blurred and his chin worked. He clenched his hands as the awful realization
rolled over him-no pants meant that he could not go to the =American school in thee morning.
For over two years, going to the =escuela =American had been the most wonderful thing in his
life. Why shouldn't it be? In all his nine years never had he found a place so comfortable, so full
of endless diversions. Books with gay pictures, games to be played, shining new paint boxes with
little pans of colors, and always something important to do, like being monitor of the drawing
cards and erasing the blackboards.

over backwards, her heels in the air then hitting the floor to bounce her straight up in a spread
eagle. Her pretty mouth was open in a square. The rooting swelled. The substitutes sat down with
their coaches. =Marvin stood back out of the center ring until the referee, ball in hand, waved
him in. The ball went into the air as the whistle blew and the game was on.
Marvin got the tip-off straight to Johnny. Marv ran down into the corner where he circled to
confuse his guard. Johnny brought the ball down over the line, faked a pass and drew out
Marvin's guard, bounced the ball to Perk, who carried it almost to the foul line, and passed to
Marvin, who threw the ball into the basket. Stone City leaped outside, threw the ball in, a long
pass. Perk leaped for it but missed. The tall Stone City forward dribbled, dodging skillfully the
guards were smothering him but he pivoted, flung the ball over his head and into the basket. A
basket each in the first minute of play!
Mr =Whalen had stopped breathing. He was in a state of suspended animation. The game was
very fast-too fast. =StoneCity scored a second and a third time. =Marvin called time out.
Someone threw a wet towel from the bench and it slid along the floor. The boys wiped their faces
with it, threw it back. They whispered together. The referee blew the whistle. Yes, they were
going to try the new trick play they had been practicing. It worked. =Marvin's pivot was
wonderful. The score was four to six.
=Marvin played with a happy, romping abandon. He was skilful, deft, acute. But he was also gay.
The youngsters screamed his name. Mr =Whalen saw =Mary's rapt, adoring look. =Marvin
romped down the floor like a young colt.
At the end of the quarter the score was fourteen to ten in =StoneCity's favor. At the end of the
half it was still in =Stone =City's favor, but only fourteen to thirteen. =StoneCity didn't score in
the second quarter. Mr =Whalen felt a deep disquietude. He had been watching the tall center on
the other team, the pivot man. He had thick black curly hair and black eyes. Mr =Whalen thought
he looked tough. He had fouled =Marvin twice in the first half. That is, he had been called for
two fouls but lie had fouled him oftener.  

Checked him when he whimpered, and they began to hunt the bank. They hunted with great
thoroughness, from surface to bottom, exploring every hole and cranny, every root hollow and
crack among the stones, finding a few crawfish and an occasional frog. These were some easy
kills and they let the pup make the most of them. His little belly began to bulge, and his mother,
growing hungry, left them to catch a pickerel in deeper water and bring it in. They climbed out on
the bank and shared it; then, gleaming and sleek from the water, they rolled and galloped about,
hissing at one another with mock ferocity.
Day stole in upon them. Out on the lake, the trailing mists of night thinned and vanished; the
serrated  line of spruces on the distant shore took on depth and shape in the strengthening light.
As the long rays of the sun fell on the otters, they gave over their play, cleaned their fur, and went
into the water again. They continued up the lake toward one of the streams which fed it. When
they reached the stream mouth, the mother and the pup swung away along the shore line. The
otter remembered the great brown trout which lived above the bend of the stream, and left them.
The trout was old and wise, and the otter had missed it so many times that the contest between
them had become a fascinating game.
It was characteristic of the otter that he didn't go directly, his mind fixed on the trout. He
zigzagged to and fro across the stream, playing as he went. When he came out of the water to
cross the rocks at the first shallows, he heard the distant barking of a dog, up the lake in the
direction his mate and the pup had gone. He hesitated for a moment and went on.
He rounded the bend carefully, and began his stalk of the trout. He knew it would be lying like a
shadow a little above the sandy bottom in the rushing green gloom of the pocket under a great
grey rock. It would be facing upstream, and he would gain an advantage by coming up from the
rear. He stretched out full length and, paddling gently and slowly with his forepaws, slid through
the water like a stealthy shadow, close to the bank and halfway to the bottom He came to the
corner of the rock and paused, sank until.

was born in March when the weather was uncommonly bleak. I was alone, except for a nephew
who had just called. He looked after the mother and explained that almost anyone else would put
the calf in the barn, but he was sure =Ara would take her into the house. I was sure he would, too,
so into the woodbox she went. In the weeks that followed, if any mention were made as to
=Molly's greater progress, =Ara would say that =Alice didn't have the same chance-she was in
the house only ten days, whereas we kept =Molly inside for three whole weeks. However, they
were both nice, so I didn't mind-much.
Cows, horses, dogs are jealous, like people, but pigs aren't so noticeably afflicted. Our old horse,
=Baldy, that died this spring at the age of =43, was terribly jealous of the other horses and he
liked to feel it was he that kept the farm going. Once a year, if we happened to be doing our own
cultivating, we would hitch him up and put him in the lead place. When he came to the corners,
he would stop and look directions at the others. You could see the self-importance and pleasure
in his eye as he raised his head and gave them the signal to start.
Pigs are very intelligent, but it would take more than the allotted space to give proofs of this fact.
To one who voices doubt, I explain as patiently as possible, but if he looks skeptical, I think no
more of it and dismiss him from my mind as one of =SamuelButler's "=Montrealers."
There is nothing cleaner than a pig if he has a chance at all. If his owner doesn't do his part in this
matter, the pig will develop a =laissez-faire about the whole thing. and we all know to our sorrow
and shame what =laissez-faire has done in our allegedly superior Human Kingdom. Pigs teach us
to be honest. Day by day we can see for ourselves that if we are fair to them, they will never let
us down. And they are not as greedy as your humansthey will settle for only Two Freedoms, dry
quarters and a well-balanced diet.
You can bring up pigs tough, and they will develop stamina, just as your street urchin learns to
take care of himself.


a withered growth of wild grass and ferns. The kid crawled instinctively into the warm hole
without any resistance to the gentle push of his mother's horns. He lay down with his head toward
his doubled hind legs, and closed his eyes. Then the goat scraped the grass and fern stalks over
the entrance hole with her forefeet, and she hurried away to graze, as carelessly as if she had no
kid hidden.
All the morning, as she grazed hurriedly and fiercely around the crag, she took great pains to
pretend that she was not aware of her kid's nearness. Even when she grazed almost beside the
hiding place, she never noticed him, by look or by cry. But still, she pricked her little ears at
every distant sound.
At noon she took him out and gave him suck. She played with him on a grassy knoll and watched
him prance about. She taught him how to rear on his hind legs and fight the air with his forehead.
Then she put him back into his hiding place and returned to graze. She continued to graze until
nightfall.
Just when she was about to fetch him from his hole and take him to the overhanging ledge to rest
for the night, a startling sound reached her ears. It came from afar, from the south, from beyond a
low fence that ran across the crag on the skyline. It was indistinct, barely audible, a deep, purring
sound. But to the ears of the mother-goat, it was loud and ominous as a thunderclap. It was the
heavy breathing of a dog sniffing the wind.
She listened stock-still, with her head in the air and her short tail lying stiff along her back,
twitching one ear. The sound came again. It was nearer. Then there was a patter of feet. Then a
clumsy, black figure hurtled over the fence and dropped onto the crag, with awkward secrecy.
The goat saw a black dog, a large, curly fellow, standing by the fence in the dim twilight, with his
forepaw raised and his long, red tongue hanging. Then he shut his mouth suddenly, and raising
his snout upward sniffed several times, contracting his nostrils as he did so, as if in pain. Then he
whined savagely, ar-d trotted toward the goat sideways.
She snorted. It"was a sharp, dull thud, like a blow from a rubber sledge. Then she rapped the crag
three times with her left. 

"When shall I have my riding lesson?" asked =Annabelle after breakfast.
"Right away, if you like," said =Caddie pleasantly.
=Clara stayed to help Mother, and =Minnie was playing with baby =Joe, but =Hetty came with
the others.
"Hadn't you better stay with Mother, =Hetty?" said =Tom in his kindest voice.
But, no, =Hetty wanted to see the riding lesson.
Annabelle chattered vivaciously of how much better everything was done in =Boston, while
=Tom went into the barn to bring out the horse.
"Why, =Tom," cried =Hetty, when he returned, "that's not =Betsy, that's =Pete."
=Pete was perfectly gentle in appearance, but he had one trick which had kept the children off his
back for several years.
"=Hetty," said =Caddie firmly, "we must have perfect quiet while anyone is learning to ride. If
you can't be perfectly quiet, we'll have to send you right back to the house."
"I suppose he bucks," said Cousin =Annabelle. "All western horses do, don't they? Shall I be
hurt?"
"He's pretty gentle," said =Tom. "You better get on and you'll find out."
"Bareback and astride?" quavered =Annabelle. "Dear me! how quaint and rustic!
=Caddie and =Tom helped her on.
"He hasn't started bucking yet," said =Annabelle proudly. "I knew that I should be a good rider!"
"Just touch him with the switch a little," advised =Tom.
At the touch of the switch, =Pete swung into a gentle canter, but instead of following the road, he
made for a particular shed at the back of the barn. It was =Pete's one accomplishment.
"How do I pull the rein to make him go the other way?" queried =Annabelle, but already =Pete
was gathering momentum and, before they could answer, he had swung in under the low shed,
scraped =Annabelle neatly off into the dust, and was standing peacefully at rest inside the shed
picking up wisps of hay.
=Annabelle sat up in a daze.


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