““What are you doing out here in the cold? Come into the house.” “Waiting for the mister to take me home on his horse. Mine is sick.” “Mr. Kilgour? Where is he?” The boy shrugged. “Come in and wait by the hearth,” I said. “At least you’ll be warm.” He shook his head. “Mister’s mother don’t like me.” “Doesn’t like you,” I corrected, then added quickly, “but she must like you. She’s been your mother for years.” He looked away. “I am ininiw. Missus hates Indians. Even âpihtawikosisânak.” Like me – ...I am a half-breed, too, I thought. But she doesn’t hate Papa. Not that I can see, in any case. I looked at the lad, his fur hat topped with snow. How could any woman not feel affection for such a gentle boy? But this is Ivy, remember, my inner voice murmured. Minty had received some schooling in St. Anthony’s, but he needed more now that the settlement’s society was changing so quickly. Note to myself: Begin to tutor Minty right after Christmas.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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