a number of his chattels behind.

Only once more did Michel appear at the Fort, and that on a
memorable occasion which neither he nor any who then beheld him will
be likely to forget.

It was on a dark, cold night in the winter of 1880, that a dog-
sleigh, laden with furs for the Company, appeared at Fort Simpson,
and having discharged his load at the fur store, the sleigh-driver,
who was none other than Accomba, the wife of Indian Michel, proceeded
to the small "Indian house," as it is called, to spend the rest of
the night among her own people. She was a pleasing-looking young
woman, with bright expressive eyes, and a rather melancholy cast of
countenance. She was completely enveloped in a large green blanket,
from the folds of which peeped over her shoulder an infant of a few
months old, warm and comfortable in its moss-bag. A blessed
institution is that of the moss-bag to the Indian infant; and
scarcely less so to the mother herself. Yet, indeed, it requires no
small amount of patience, skill, and labour before this Northern
luxury can be made ready for its tiny occupant. Through a good part
of the long winter nights has the mother worked at the fine bead-work
which must adorn the whole front of the moss-bag. By a strange
intuitive skill she has traced the flowers and leaves and delicate
little tendrils, the whole presenting a marvellously artistic
appearance, both in form and in well-combined colours. Then must the
moss be fetched to completely line the bag, and to form both bed and
wrapping for the little one. For miles into the woods will the Indian
women hike to pick the soft moss which is only to be met with in
certain localities. They will hang it out on bush and shrub to dry
for weeks before it is wanted, and then trudge back again to bring it