When these boys return to their distant toldos to
tell "the news" to their dark-minded parents, the most wonderful of
all to relate is "Liklamo ithnik nata abwathwuk enthlit God;
hingyahamok hiknata apkyapasa apkyitka abwanthlabanko.
Aptakmilkischik sat ankuk appaiwa ingyitsipe sata netin thlamokthloho
abyiam." [Footnote: John 3:16]
Well might the wondering mother of "Dark Cloud" call her next-born
"Samai" (The Dawn of Day).
The Indian counts by his hands and feet. Five would be one hand, two
hands ten, two hands and a foot fifteen, and a specially clever
savage could even count "my two hands and my two feet." Now Mr. Hunt
is changing that: five is thalmemik, ten sohok-emek, fifteen
sohokthlama-eminik, and twenty sohok-emankuk.
When a boy in school desires to say eighteen, he must first of all
take a good deep breath, for sohok-emek-wakthla-mok-eminick-
antanthlama is no short word. This literally means: "finished my
hands - pass to my other foot three."
At the school I saw the skin of a water-snake twenty-six feet nine
inches long, but a book of pictures I had interested the boys far
more.
The mission workers have each a name given to them by the Indians,
and some of them are more than strange.
