on the way to Fort Wayne. My
mother always cooked corn dodgers for them and gave them milk to drink.
They loved her and knew she was their friend. They always gave me
strings of vari-colored glass beads. I think I had one of every color.

These Indians at Traverse made me feel at home at once and I gave them a
friendly smile. The glances they returned were shy, but friendly. Their
painted faces and breasts and gaudy clothes were different from our
Indians. Their tepees stretched as far as the eye could see. It seemed
that the squaws must have had instruction in embroidery from some
civilized teacher. Their patterns were so intricate. Their colors so
well placed. Their moccasins were always beautifully done with beads and
colored porcupine quills; their best petticoats, too. As for their
liege lords, their best suits, if suits they might be called, were
beautifully done. A young squaw, instead of pouring out her love in
song, would pour it out in embroidery and her husband would be very gay,
indeed.

Mrs. Hopkins, wife of the missionary, met us and took us home with her
where we were very well cared for. She was a charming little woman, full
of missionary zeal and greatly loved. I never heard her complain. Her
husband, too, was greatly beloved by the Indians.

We took our stores and cooked there and with fresh vegetables from the
little farm worked by Mr. Huggins, fish and game, we had choice meals.

I used to ride horseback, or rather "pony back," every day, always with
my husband and frequently with Mr. Sibley. My pony was borrowed from the
Indians. Mr. Chute and Mr. Sibley rode large horses. Every Indian brave,
who came, came on a pony. His tepee, household goods and children were
drawn by one. There were so many that they seemed more than the blades
of grass. Literally thousands of these ponies were grazing some distance
back of the encampment. We three rode out to see them. As we neared
them, and they smelled my pony, that vast herd, with one accord, started
towards us and almost at once literally engulfed me. The men called,
"For God's sake, don't get off. Hold on for your life." I took the pony
around the neck with both arms and did hold on. The men came after me as
fast as they could and rode their big horses on either side of me. The
Indians rushed in on their ponies and after some time succeeded in
turning that vast multitude and letting the prisoner escape. I was cool
and collected while the danger menaced,