[Illustration:  “The wild and picturesque Ka-ka-be-ka Falls.”]

Little Sagastao was only a few months old when she installed herself as his nurse, and for years she was a most watchful and devoted as well as self-sacrificing guardian of our children in that Northern home.  She seemed to live and think solely for them.  At times, especially in the matter of parental discipline, there would be collisions between Mary and the mother of the children; for the nurse, with her Indian ideas, could not accept of the position of a disciplined servant, nor could she quietly witness the punishment of children whom she thought absolutely perfect.  Hence, if she could not have things exactly as she wanted them, Mary would now and then allow her fiery temper to obtain the mastery, and springing up in a rage and throwing a shawl over her head she would fly out of the house and be gone for days.

Her mistress paid no attention to these outbursts.  She well knew that when Mary had cooled down she would return, and it was often amusing to see the way in which she would attract the children’s attention to her, peering around tree or corner, and then come meekly walking in with them as though they had only been for a pleasant outing of an hour or so.

“Well, Mary,” would be the greeting of her mistress, while Mary’s quiet response would be the Indian greeting of, “Wat cheer!”

Then things would go on as usual for perhaps another six months, when Mary would indulge again in one of her tantrums, with the same happy results.

She dressed the children in picturesque Indian costumes—­coats, dresses, leggings, moccasins, and other articles of apparel of deer skin, tanned as soft as kid, and beautifully embroidered with silk and bead work.  Not a spot could appear upon their garments without Mary’s notice, and as she always kept changes ready she was frequently disrobing and dressing them up.

When Souwanas and Jakoos came that morning and picked up the children Mary happened to be in another room.  Had she been present she would doubtless have interfered in their movements.  As it was, when she missed the children her indignation knew no bounds, and only the most emphatic commands of her mistress restrained her from rushing after them.  All day long she had to content herself with muttering her protests while, as usual, she was busily employed with her needle.  When, however, the two stalwart Indians returned in the evening with the children on their shoulders the storm broke, and Mary’s murmurings, at first mere protests, became loud and furious when the happy children, so tired and dirty, were set down before her.  The Indians, knowing of the sad tragedy in Mary’s life, would not show anger or even annoyance under her scathing words, but, with the stoical nature of their race, they quietly endured her wrath.  This they were much better prepared to do since neither of the parents of the white children seemed in the slightest degree disturbed by their long absence or the tirade of the indignant nurse.  With high-bred courtesy they patiently listened to all that Mary had to say, and when the storm had spent itself they turned and noiselessly retired.