Free When Breaks the Dawn (Canadian West) by Janette Oke

and “sled” were recognizable, but “dog” and “deer” and “moose” required a lot of imagination.
    I wasn’t sure how to show the difference between the sun and the moon. Did the Indian people see the moon with a smiling face? As I labored over my drawings, I certainly recognized their inadequacies. I wasn’t sure if my “art” would help or hinder my students’ progress.
    At last the long-awaited day arrived. Wynn promised to build our fire and have the chill out of the cabin by the time the teachers and the students arrived. I gathered the rest of my teaching tools together, bundled myself up against the cold wind, closed the door on the whining Kip, and headed for the exciting first day of school.
    Nimmie was already there. The room was cozy and warm. The crude tables and chairs were the best that could be managed out of rough lumber, and I knew they held the possibility of many future slivers. Beneath our blackboard was a piece of chalk and one of our brushes. A few of my books were on a shelf along with our supply of scribblers and the pencils Wynn carefully had sharpened for us with his jackknife.
    I had thought that supplies were quite limited in my schoolhouse at Pine Spring, and so they were; but here at the settlement I had even less to work with and just as great a need.
    We were ready. This was our school. I took a deep breath and smiled at Nimmie, giving her the nod to “ring our bell.”
    I don’t know if I really expected a stampede to our door. If I did, I certainly shouldn’t have. I knew the Indian people better than that, and yet somehow because of my own great excitement, I guess I expected them to be excited too.
    At the end of our gonging signal, we waited for our first student. No one came. The minutes ticked by, and still no one showed up.
    I began to feel panicky, but Nimmie seemed perfectly at ease. She threw another log in the fireplace, then crossed over to where tiny Nonita was sleeping on a bear rug in the corner and sat down beside her on the floor.
    “Do you think we should bang on it again?” I asked anxiously.
    “They heard,” said Nimmie. I too was sure they had heard. One could not have lived anywhere in the village and not have heard the terrible din of the clanging barrel ringing out over the crisp morning air.
    We waited.
    “Why aren’t they coming?” I asked Nimmie.
    “They’ll come,” Nimmie assured me, unperturbed.
    We waited some more.
    Nimmie was right. At last two girls came toward the cabin. I, who had been watching out the window for any sign of activity, met them at the door. I wanted to be sure they didn’t change their minds.
    Three more girls, hiding giggles behind their hands, soon followed, and then another, and then four boys, grouped together as if for support. Two more girls, a single, a pair of boys. They kept straggling in until I feared that most of our morning would be taken with trying to get some kind of a roll call established.
    I welcomed the children and found them each a place to sit. Nimmie repeated my words in their own native tongue. I explained to them what we would be doing at school, hoping the excitement in my voice would somehow carry over to them. Twenty-three pairs of eyes never left my face, but I saw no flicker of interest or enthusiasm. I swallowed hard and went on.
    “We will be learning numbers and words and colors,” I continued, trying to make it sound fascinating, but the expressions before me did not change.
    Nimmie stepped forward to stand beside me. She began to speak to them in her own soft and flowing speech. I understood only a few of the words, but somehow they managed to convey to me, and to the children, a sense of wonder—an inspiration. A few eyes before me began to light.
    As we worked on the roll call, other stragglers arrived. Our schoolhouse was crowded. We didn’t have room to seat any more. I was exhilarated! Wait till I tell Wynn! I exulted. I remembered his words of caution.
    “Don’t be