They told me afterwards, that "much water fell from their eyes day and
night, while they thought she would die;" that the servants made them
leave the sick room, and then turned them out of the house--but that
they would not go home, waiting outside to hear of her.

During her convalescence, I found that they could "rejoice with those
that rejoice" as well as "weep with those that wept." The fearful
disease was abating in our family, and "Old Harper," as she is called
in the Fort, offered to sit up and attend to the fire. We allowed her to
do so, for the many who had so kindly assisted us were exhausted with
fatigue. Joy had taken from me all inclination to sleep, and I lay down
near my little girl, watching the old Sioux woman. She seemed to be
reviewing the history of her life, so intently did she gaze at the
bright coals on the hearth. Many strange thoughts apparently engaged
her. She was, of her own accord, an inmate of the white man's house,
waiting to do good to his sick child. She had wept bitterly for days,
lest the child should be lost to her--and now she was full of happiness,
at the prospect of her recovery.

How shall we reconcile this with the fact that Harper, or Harpstinah,
was one of the Sioux women, who wore, as long as she could endure it, a
necklace made of the hands and feet of Chippeway children? Here, in the
silence of night, she turned often towards the bed, when the restless
sleep of the child broke in on her meditation. She fancied I slept, but
my mind was busy too. I was far away from the home of my childhood, and
a Sioux woman, with her knife in her belt, was assisting me in the care
of my only daughter. She thought Dr. T. was a "wonderful medicine man"
to cure her; in which opinion we all cordially coincided.

I always listened with pleasure to the women, when allusion was made to