you perceive what he requires. I was perfectly astonished at this innate
politeness, for it seems natural to all the Indians with whom I have had
any dealings.

There was one old Indian, who belonged to a distant settlement, and only
visited our lakes occasionally on hunting parties. He was a strange,
eccentric, merry old fellow, with a skin like red mahogany, and a wiry,
sinewy frame, that looked as if it could bid defiance to every change of
temperature. Old Snow-storm, for such was his significant name, was rather
too fond of the whiskey-bottle, and when he had taken a drop too much, he
became an unmanageable wild beast. He had a great fancy for my husband,
and never visited the other Indians without extending the same favour to
us. Once upon a time, he broke the nipple of his gun; and Moodie repaired
the injury for him by fixing a new one in its place, which little kindness
quite won the heart of the old man, and he never came to see us without
bringing an offering of fish, ducks, partridges, or venison, to show his
gratitude.

One warm September day, he made his appearance bareheaded, as usual, and
carrying in his hand a great checked bundle.

"Fond of grapes?" said he, putting the said bundle into my hands. "Fine
grapes--brought them from island, for my friend's squaw and papouses."

Glad of the donation, which I considered quite a prize, I hastened into
the kitchen to untie the grapes and put them into a dish. But imagine my
disappointment, when I found them wrapped up in a soiled shirt, only
recently taken from the back of the owner. I called Moodie, and begged him
to return Snow-storm his garment, and to thank him for the grapes.