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Updated: June 1, 2025
"Before you born, or I, or" pointing across the park to the distant city of Vancouver, that breathed its wealth and beauty across the September afternoon "before that place born, before white man came here oh! long before." Dear old klootchman! I knew by the dusk in her eyes that she was back in her Land of Legends, and that soon I would be the richer in my hoard of Indian lore.
She lifted both hands and with each forefinger smoothed gently along her forehead from the parting of her hair to the temples. It is the universal habit of the red woman, and simply means a desire for neatness in her front locks. I busied myself immediately with the teakettle, for, like all her kind, The Klootchman dearly loves her tea.
A klootchman we had not noticed before looked up, and said mournfully, "No," it was her "little woman." I saw that she had before her, on the sand, a number of little bright toys, a doll wrapped in calico, a musical ball, a looking-glass, a package of candy and one of cakes, a bright tin pail full of sirup, and two large sacks, one of bread, and the other of apples.
I'm getting compliments from everybody to-night. I'm really flattered. I want to hear some more." "Better not," he advised apprehensively. "But I want to." "Ya-as," Simon drawled again. "Hyas kloshe tenas klootchman ah-ha. What name you callum?" "Missee Clyde Bullaby," Feng replied, making a manful attempt at Clyde's surname, which was quite beyond his lingual attainments. "Clyde!"
Then she again saw those fever-haunted eyes of the stranger who was within her gates, again heard the half wail of the Tenas Klootchman in her own baby's cradle basket, and at the sound she turned her back on the possible safety of shelter, and forged ahead. It was a wearied woman who finally knocked at the doctor's door and bade him hasten.
"It is a beautiful story, klootchman," I said, "and I feel a cruel delight that your men of magic punished the people for their ill choice." "That because you girl-child yourself," she laughed. There was the slightest whisper of a step behind me. I turned to find Maarda almost at my elbow.
She is well off now, and lives no more in the twelve-by-eighteen-foot bunk-house, but when I asked her how she accomplished so much, she replied, "I just jollied things along, and laughed over the hard places. It makes them easier then." So perhaps the station agent's wife was really right, after all, when she remarked that "some women were just born to laugh." The Tenas Klootchman
The rising tide was unbeaching the canoe, and as Maarda stepped in and the klootchman slipped astern, it drifted afloat. "Kla-how-ya," nodded the klootchman as she dipped her paddle-blade in exquisite silence. "Kla-how-ya," smiled Maarda.
Did the woman wish to give the child to her? She dared not ask for it. Suppose Luke "Alaska" wanted it. His wife loved children, though she had four of her own in their home far inland. Then the sick woman spoke: "Your cradle basket and your heart were empty before I came. Will you keep my Tenas Klootchman as your own? to fill them both again?" Maarda promised.
Then across the silence broke the little murmuring sound of the baby half crooning, half crying, indoors, the little cradleless baby that, homeless, had entered her home. Maarda returned, and, lifting the basket, again arranged the wrappings. "The Tenas Klootchman shall have this cradle," she said, gently. The sick woman turned her face to the wall and sobbed.
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