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There were eight in our party of bronzed children who were going East with the missionaries.
We had been very impatient to start on our journey to the Red Apple Country, which, we were told, lay a little beyond the great circular horizon of the Western prairie. Under a sky of rosy apples we dreamt of roaming as freely and happily as we had chased the cloud shadows on the Dakota plains.
We had anticipated much pleasure from a ride on the iron horse, but the throngs of staring palefaces disturbed and troubled us. On the train, fair women, with tottering babies on each arm, stopped their haste and scrutinized the children of absent mothers. Large men, with heavy bundles in their hands, halted near by, and riveted their glassy blue eyes upon us.
I sank deep into the corner of my seat, for I resented being watched. Directly in front of me, children who were no larger than I hung themselves upon the backs of their seats, with their bold white faces toward me. Sometimes they took their forefingers out of their mouths and pointed at my moccasined feet.
This embarrassed me, and kept me constantly on the verge of tears. I sat perfectly still, with my eyes downcast, daring only now and then to shoot long glances around me.
Chancing to turn to the window at my side, I was quite breathless upon seeing one familiar object. It was the telegraph pole which strode by at short paces. Often I had stopped, on my way down the road, to hold my ear against the pole, and, hearing its low moaning, I used to wonder what the paleface had done to hurt it.
Now I sat watching for each pole that glided by to be the last one. In this way I had forgotten my uncomfortable surroundings, when I heard one of my comrades call out my name. I saw the missionary standing very near, tossing candies and gums into our midst.
This amused us all, and we tried to see who could catch the most of the sweetmeats. I had caught more than my share of candies and gums, and soon after our arrival at the school I had a chance to disgrace myself, which, I am ashamed to say, I did. Though we rode several days inside of the iron horse, I do not recall a single thing about our luncheons.
It was night when we reached the school grounds. The lights from the windows of the large buildings fell upon some of the icicled trees that stood beneath them. We were led toward an open door, where the brightness of the lights within flooded out over the heads of the excited palefaces who blocked the way.
My body trembled more from fear than from the snow I trod upon. Entering the house, I stood close against the wall. The strong glaring light in the large whitewashed room dazzled my eyes. The noisy hurrying of hard shoes upon a bare wooden floor increased the whirring in my ears.
My only safety seemed to be in keeping next to the wall. As I was wondering in which direction to escape from all this confusion, two warm hands grasped me firmly, and in the same moment I was tossed high in midair. A rosy-cheeked paleface woman caught me in her arms. I was both frightened and insulted by such trifling.
I stared into her eyes, wishing her to let me stand on my own feet, but she jumped me up and down with increasing enthusiasm.
My mother had never made a plaything of her wee daughter. Remembering this I began to cry aloud. They misunderstood the cause of my tears, and placed me at a white table loaded with food.
There our party were united again. As I did not hush my crying, one of the older ones whispered to me, "Wait until you are alone in the night. I want to go to my aunt!The School Days of an Indian Girl. I. THE LAND OF RED APPLES. These sad memories rise above those of smoothly grinding school days.
Perhaps my Indian nature is the moaning wind which stirs them now for their present record. But, however tempestuous this is within me, it comes out as the low voice of a curiously colored .
The School Days of an Indian Girl Essay “The school Days of an Indian Girl ” “The school days of an Indian girl ” is a narrative essay based on life turning experience of a Native American Indian Girl.
THE SCHOOL DAYS OF AN INDIAN GIRL. I. THE LAND OF RED APPLES. There were eight in our party of bronzed children who were going East with the missionaries. Among us were three young braves, two tall girls, and we three little ones, Judéwin, Thowin, and I.
Get an answer for 'In Zitkala-Sa's autobiographical story "The School Days of an Indian Girl," why does she feel like an outcast among the whites as well as among her own native people?
' and find. Oct 04, · Best Answer: Yes! Zitkala-Sa one of my favorite historical figures. -- Zitkala talks a lot in her writing (especially this piece) about the suppression of the Native American culture after the US was feelthefish.com: Resolved.
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The School Days of an Indian Girl In the pursuit of happiness people often make the mistake of having too high of an expectation.