Catharine often forgot her own griefs to repay this worthy creature's kindness, by attending to her little babe and assisting her in some of her homely preparations of cookery or household work.

She knew that a selfish indulgence in sorrow would do her no good, and after the lapse of some days she so well disciplined her own heart as to check her tears at least in the presence of the Indian women, and to assume an air of comparative cheerfulness.

Once she found Indian words enough to ask the Indian widow to convey her back to the lake, but she shook her head and bade her not think anything about it; and added, that in the fall, when the ducks came to the rice-beds, they should all return, and then if she could obtain leave from the chief, she would restore her to her lodge on the plains; but signified to her that patience was her only present remedy, and that submission to the will of the chief was her wisest plan.

Comforted by this vague promise, Catharine strove to be reconciled to her strange lot, and still stranger companions.

She could not help being surprised at the want of curiosity respecting her that was shown by the Indians in the wigwam, when she was brought thither; they appeared to take little notice that a stranger and one so dissimilar to themselves had been introduced into the camp, for before her they asked no questions about her, whatever they might do when she was absent, though they surveyed her with silent attention.