driven out of the neighborhood.
Occasionally one of my older brothers brought home a rabbit or two, and
then we had a feast.

The sugaring season extended well into April, and the returning birds
made the precincts of our camp joyful with their songs. I often followed
my older brothers into the woods, although I was then but four or five
years old. Upon one of these excursions they went so far that I ventured
back alone. When within sight of our hut, I saw a chipmunk sitting upon
a log, and uttering the sound he makes when he calls to his mate. How
glorious it would be, I thought, if I could shoot him with my tiny bow
and arrows! Stealthily and cautiously I approached, keeping my eyes upon
the pretty little animal, and just as I was about to let fly my shaft,
I heard a hissing noise at my feet. There lay a horrid snake, coiled and
ready to spring! Forgetful that I was a warrior, I gave a loud scream
and started backward; but soon recollecting myself, looked down with
shame, although no one was near. However, I retreated to the inclined
trunk of a fallen tree, and there, as I have often been told, was
overheard soliloquizing in the following words: "I wonder if a snake can
climb a tree!"

I remember on this occasion of our last sugar bush in Minnesota, that
I stood one day outside of our hut and watched the approach of a
visitor--a bent old man, his hair almost white, and carrying on his back
a large bundle of red willow, or kinnikinick, which the Indians use for
smoking. He threw down his load at the door and thus saluted us: "You
have indeed perfect weather for sugar-making."

It was my great-grandfather, Cloud Man, whose original village was on
the shores of Lakes Calhoun and Harriet, now in the suburbs of the city
of Minneapolis. He was the first Sioux chief to welcome the Protestant
missionaries among his people, and a well-known character in those
pioneer days. He brought us word that some of the peaceful sugar-makers
near us on the river had been attacked and murdered by roving Ojibways.
This news disturbed us not a little, for we realized that we too might
become the victims of an Ojibway war party. Therefore we all felt some
uneasiness from this time until we returned heavy laden to our village.

V. A Midsummer Feast

IT was midsummer. Everything that the Santee Sioux had undertaken during
the year had been unusually successful. The spring fur-hunters had been
fortunate, and the heavy winter had pr