"It is called Rice Lake, my lady. It is a fine piece of water, more than
twenty miles long, and from three to five miles broad. It has pretty
wooded islands, and several rivers or streams empty themselves into it.
The Otonabee River is a fine broad stream, which flows through the forest
a long way. Many years ago, there were no clearings on the banks, and no
houses, only Indian tents or wigwams; but now, there are a great many
houses and farms."

"What are wigwams?"

"A sort of light tent, made with poles stuck into the ground, in a
circle, fastened together at the top, and covered on the outside with
skins of wild animals, or with birch bark. The Indians light a fire of
sticks and logs on the ground, in the middle of the wigwam, and lie or sit
all round it; the smoke goes up to the top and escapes. In the winter,
they bank it up with snow, and it is very warm."

"I think it must be a very ugly sort of house; and I am glad I do not
live in an Indian wigwam," said the little lady.

"The Indians are a very simple folk, my lady, and do not need fine
houses, like this in which your papa lives. They do not know the names or
uses of half the fine things that are in the houses of the white people.
They are happy and contented without them. It is not the richest that are
happiest, Lady Mary, and the Lord careth for the poor and the lowly. There
is a village on the shores of Rice Lake where the Indians live. It is not
very pretty. The houses are all built of logs, and some of them have
gardens and orchards. They have a neat church, and they have a good
minister, who takes great pains to teach them the Gospel of the Lord Jesus
Christ. The poor Indians were Pagans until within the last few years."