was awakened by a loud call, and I
realized the joy of knowing that we were found. The men who had been
sent in search of us were calling, in hopes that we would answer and we
continued our journey without further incident.

One morning in the spring of 1851, our little mission house at Kaposia
was full of bustle and confusion, for we were busy preparing for an
Indian wedding. The prospective bride was a pretty Sioux maiden, and her
fiance was a white trader. Everything was in readiness for the ceremony,
but no groom appeared. The hours wore on; the bride wept; but no news of
the groom came until late in the afternoon a rumor reached us that he
was celebrating the occasion by a drunken revel, and was not in
condition to take his part in the ceremony. A white mother would have
wept over daughter's grief, but not this Indian mother. When told that
the ceremony must be postponed, she replied with stoical Indian
patience: "It is well; I like his white skin; but I hate his drunken
ways."

Dr. A. C. Daniels.

When I was agency physician at Lac qui Parle, I often saw the humorous
side of Indian life. One day when the Indians had received their
government allowance, a party of them too freely indulged their
appetites for liquor; and one, a big brave, who had adopted the
patriotic name of George Washington, led a band of Indians to the home
of the Catholic sisters, and demanded food. The sisters saw the Indians'
condition, barred the door, and told the braves to go away. George,
however, was insistent in his demands, and finally put his giant
strength against the door, and splintered the upper part. He had put his
head into the opening, and was about to crawl through it, when one of
the sisters seized a rolling pin, and rained sturdy blows upon his head
and shoulders. He raised a yell that brought me to the spot just in time
to see a funny sight. Just as George was about to beat a retreat, his
squaw came running up and began to belabor him from the rear, while the
nun continued the assault. There he was with part of his body in the
house and part of it out, crying out in a manner most unseemly for an
Indian brave. When the women desisted, he was both sober and repentant.

In early days, the Indian agent at Lac qui Parle hoisted the American
flag each morning over the agency. During a serious drought, the Indians
conceived the idea that the Great Spirit was displeased at the sight of
the flag, and begged the agent to take i