a child not her own, at so tender an age; and it is especially hard
in a country where milk is not to be procured, and where fish or
rabbit soup is the only substitute for an infant's natural food.
Minneha tried it, however, for a few weeks. She was cousin to poor
Accomba, and spent whole nights in wailing and lamenting, saying, "My
sister! my sister! why might I not die instead of you? Oh, my sister,
who shall mother your little ones? Who shall work for them? Who shall
hunt for them, and bring them the young sayoni skin (sheep skin) from
the mountains? Who shall bring them meat when they are hungry--the
fine fat ribs, the moose nose, or beaver tail, and the fine bladders
of grease, which we cook with the flour from the white man's country?
You were proud of your 'tezone' my sister. She had your eyes, dark as
the berries of the sassiketoum, and they flashed fire like the aurora
of winter nights. Your laugh was pleasant. Oh, my sister! like the
waters dancing over the stones, it fell: it was good to listen to
your words when we were partners in the days of our childhood. Our
mothers dwelt together; they loved each other with sisters' love;
they dwelt together among their own people. Etcha-Ottine were they,
the finest of all Tinne-Zua (Indian men)! You laughed and sang, my
sister, when we played in the woods together; when we cut the birch
trees to make sirop in the spring time; when we sewed the rogans of
the birch bark, or plaited the quills of the porcupine into belts,
and made our father's gun-cases, or our own leather dresses for the
Fall. Many a time we went out in the canoe together; we paddled among
the islands when the berries were ripe; we spent the night in
gathering the sweet ripe fruit--moose-berry and moss-berry, the
little eye-berry, and the sassiketoum. In the summer we went to the
Forts, and pitched our camps near the white man's house. We sold our
furs to the 'big master,' and he gave us blankets and dress pieces,
and beads to make us fine leggings; and tobacco, and tea, and shot,