"We are told," said Hector, "that there is joy with the angels of God
over one sinner that repenteth; doubtless, it is a joyful thing when
the heathen that knew not the name of God are taught to glorify his holy
name."

Indiana, while exploring, had captured a porcupine; she declared that
she should have plenty of quills for edging baskets and mocassins;
beside, she said, the meat was white and good to eat. Hector looked
with a suspicious eye upon the little animal, doubting the propriety of
eating its flesh, though he had learned to eat musk rats, and consider
them good meat, baked in Louis's Indian oven, or roasted on a forked
stick, before the fire. The Indian porcupine is a small animal, not a
very great deal larger than the common British hedgehog; the quills,
however, are longer and stronger, and varied with alternate clouded
marks of pure white and dark brownish grey; they are minutely barbed, so
that if one enters the flesh it is with difficulty extracted, but will
work through of itself in an opposite direction, and can then be easily
pulled out. Dogs and cattle often suffer great inconvenience from
getting their muzzles filled with the quills of the porcupine,
the former when worrying the poor little animal, and the latter by
accidentally meeting a dead one among the herbage; great inflammation
will sometimes attend the extraction. Indians often lose valuable hounds
from this cause. Beside porcupines, Indiana told her companions, there
were some fine butter-nut trees on the island, and they could collect a
bag full in a very short time. This was good news, for the butter-nut
is sweet and pleasant, almost equal to the walnut, of which it is a
species. The day was passed pleasantly enough in collecting nuts and
grapes; but as this island did not afford any good cleared spot for
passing the night, and, moreover, was tenanted by black snakes, several
of which made their appearance among the stones near the edge of the
water, they agreed by common council to go to Long Island, where Indiana
said there was an old log-house, the walls of which were still standing,
and where there was dry moss in plenty, which would make them a
comfortable bed for the night. This old log-house she said had been
built, she heard the Indians say, by a French Canadian trapper, who
used to visit the lake some years ago; he was on friendly terms with the
chiefs, who allowed him many privileges, and he bought their furs, and
took them down