When the welfare ladies were on the farm, Clarence tossed hay at the edge of the barn or shoveled manure or puttered on an engine often just screwing on and off the oil cap or leaning down under the hood pretending to look at something, as he could not concentrate to do any real mechanical work while they were there. He tossed, shoveled, and puttered where they could see him and he could see them, always avoiding their eyes. He let them think whatever they thought about him. He did not care, just as long as they left without the children.
Once they left Clarence would say in English with his lilting Indian accent, “Those white ladies sure do know how to dress. Ho wah! Look at them! Give them some Indian shoes next time,” he’d laugh, “so no one mistakes them for a goat.” Of course, he had
