The Drums of Change by Janette Oke

was, though she had heard one of the teachers use the same words when speaking about Silver Fox. Perhaps it had something to do with being Indian.
    She shook her head slowly.
    “You do need exercise,” went on the persistent Miss Brooke. “Come on. Let’s both join the others.”
    She held out her hand and reluctantly Running Fawn allowed herself to be led over to the game.
    “Make room,” Miss Brooke said to the nearest girls. “We are joining you.”
    Running Fawn did not miss the frowns that spread quickly around the small circle.
    “She doesn’t know how to play,” the girl named Molly, now holding the ball, dared to argue.
    “Then we’ll teach her,” said Miss Brooke. She turned to Running Fawn. “The girls in the middle are ‘it.’ The object of the game is to hit one of them with the ball as you pass it back and forth around the circle. They try to keep from being hit. If the ball does touch one, that person must come out of the circle. The last girl left in the circle is the winner. Do you understand?”
    Running Fawn had listened carefully. She understood and nodded.
    They began the game again. At first the group showed little enthusiasm, but as the game progressed, the girls again picked up their squealing, and Running Fawn seemed to be forgotten.
    The girls in the circle ran around and around, crying and calling and skipping lightly out of the path of the tossed ball. Running Fawn kept her eyes on the whole procedure. So far the ball had not come her way.
    A small girl with light lemon braids was hit and had to join the outer circle. Then a girl named Meg, whom the girls in the dorm called Topper, was “out.” As the game went on, Running Fawn’s dark eyes riveted on the frisking, dodging Molly, one of the few still left in the middle.
    And then the ball bounced her way. Before any of the other girls could move to retrieve it, Running Fawn snatched it up quickly and with one quick, hard delivery sent it careening straight at the unsuspecting older girl, hitting her in the chest with such force that it toppled her to the ground.
    “Oh, my,” she heard Miss Brooke exclaim as the woman hastily hurried forward to check on the fallen student.
    Other than being shaken and angry, Molly was not injured. She got up, brushing at her gray skirt, eyes flashing as she cast a glance Running Fawn’s way.
    Miss Brooke, looking relieved that no serious harm had been done, turned back to Running Fawn. “We forgot to tell you that you just toss the ball gently,” she said patiently. “And we throw the ball low. From the waist down. The waist down.” She held her hand at her own waist and let it sweep downward to show the girl exactly what she meant. Running Fawn nodded mutely to let the woman know that she understood.
    The woman lifted the little chain that she wore around her neck and looked at the small watch that dangled at the end.
    “It’s almost time to wash for supper,” she said. “I think that’s enough exercise for one day.”
    Running Fawn turned away from the little group and started for the dormitory washroom. She did not even glance at the other girls. But as she walked her dark eyes took on a shine. For once, just once, she had bested the big, bossy Molly.

    Besides the daily chapel times, there were religious instruction classes. Running Fawn felt a certain amount of curiosity about the white man’s God, but she kept a careful inner distance from any deep interest. She knew instinctively that as long as she was at the school, she would not be allowed to sing the Blackfoot chants or do any dancing to the Sun God. But that did not trouble her, as she would not have felt inclined to do it on her own in any circumstance. The religion of her people was a joining together. She needed the rest of her band to take part in the ceremony. The Indian tradition was that only seeking the Great Spirit’s vision was done alone in a quiet place of meditation. Running Fawn had not reached the age where