The Middle Five

I

Leaning against the wall of a large stone building, with moccasined feet dangling from a high wooden bench on the front porch, sat a little boy crying. His buckskin suit, prettily fringed and embroidered with porcupine quills of the brightest colors, indicated the care bestowed upon him by fond parents. Boys and girls were at play around the house, making the place ring with their merry laughter as they chased each other among the trees, but the little boy sat all alone, sobbing as though his heart would break. A big boy came and sat by his side, put an arm around him, and in a kindly tone said, in Indian:

“What are you crying for? Don’t cry⁠—I’ll play with you and be your friend. I won’t let the boys hurt you.”

“I want my mother! I want to go home!” was all the homesick little chap could say, crying harder than ever.