river; the light dip of the paddle had ceased on
the water, the baying of hounds and life-like stirring sounds from the
lodges came softened to the listening ear. The hunters had come in with
the spoils of a successful chase; the wigwam fires are flickering and
crackling, sending up their light columns of thin blue smoke among the
trees; and now a goodly portion of venison is roasting on the forked
sticks before the fires. Each lodge has its own cooking utensils. That
jar embedded in the hot embers contains sassafras tea, an aromatic
beverage, in which the squaws delight when they are so fortunate as to
procure a supply. This has been brought from the Credit, far up in the
west, by a family who have come down on a special mission from some
great chief to his brethren on the Otonabee, and the squaws have cooked
some in honour of the guests. That pot that sends up such a savoury
steam is venison pottage, or soup, or stew, or any name you choose to
give the Indian mess that is concocted of venison, wild rice, and herbs.
Those tired hounds that lay stretched before the fire have been out, and
now they enjoy the privilege of the fire, some praise from the hunters,
and receive withal an occasional reproof from the squaws, if they
approach their wishful noses too close to the tempting viands.

The elder boys are shooting at a mark on yonder birch-tree; the girls
are playing or rolling on the grass; "The Snow-bird" is seated on
the floor of the wigwam braiding a necklace of sweet grass, which she
confines in links by means of little bands of coloured quills; Catharine
is working mocassins beside her;--a dark shadow falls across her work
from the open tent door--an exclamation of surprise and displeasure from
one of the women makes Catharine raise her eyes to the doorway; there,
silent, pale, and motionless, the mere shadow of her former self, stands
Indiana--a gleam of joy lights for an instant her large lustrous eyes.
Amazement and delight at the sight of her beloved friend for a moment
deprives Catharine of the power of speech; then terror for the safety of
her friend takes place of her joy at seeing her. She rises regardless of
the angry tones of the Indian woman's voice, and throws her arms about
Indiana as if to shield her from threatened anger, and sobs her welcome
in her arms.

"Indiana, dear sister! how came you hither, and for what purpose?"

"To free you, and then die," was the soft low tremulous answer. "Follow
me.