His wife was standing close by, a smudged hag of most sinister aspect; also a son and his wife.

On stages, and on the shrubs around, were strewn nets, ragged blankets, frowsy shawls, and a huddle of other shreds and patches; and, everywhere else, a horde of hungry dogs snarling and pouncing upon each other like wolves.

Filth here was supreme, and the _mise en scene_ characteristic of a very low and very rare type of Wahpooskow life indeed--a type butted and bounded by the word "fish." An attempt was made to photograph the group, but the old fellow turned aside, and the old woman hobbled into the recesses of a tepee, where we heard her muttering such execrations in Cree as were possible to that innocent tongue.

The hands of the woman at the cabin door were a miracle of grime and scrofula.

Her sluttish locks, together with two children, hung around her; one of the latter chewing a muddy carrot up into the leaves, an ungainly little imp; the other was a girl of singularly beautiful features and of perfect form, her large luminous eyes of richest brown reflecting the sunlight from their depths like mirrors--a little angel clad in dirt.