We had also a negro boy, Harry, brought a year before from Kentucky, by Mr. Kercheval.  In the transfer at that time from a slave State to a free one, Harry’s position became somewhat changed—­he could be no more than an indentured servant.  He was about to become a member of Dr. Wolcott’s household, and it was necessary for him to choose a guardian.  All this was explained to him on his being brought into the parlor, where the family were assembled.  My husband was then a young man, on a visit to his home.  “Now, Harry,” it was said to him, “you must choose your guardian;” and the natural expectation was that Harry would select the person of his acquaintance of the greatest age and dignity.  But, rolling round his great eyes, and hanging his head on one side, he said,—­

“I’ll have Master John for my guardian.”

From that day forward Harry felt as if he belonged, in a measure, to Master John, and at the breaking-up of the family in Chicago he was, naturally, transferred to our establishment.

There were three ladies of our travelling party—­our mother, our sister Mrs. Helm, and myself.  To guard against the burning effect of the sun and the prairie winds upon our faces, I had, during some of the last days of my visit, prepared for each of us a mask of brown linen, with the eyes, nose, and mouth fitted to our features; and, to enhance their hideousness, I had worked eyebrows, eyelashes, and a circle around the opening for the mouth, in black silk.  Gathered in plaits under the chin, and with strings to confine them above and below, they furnished a complete protection against the sun and wind, though nothing can be imagined more frightful than the appearance we presented when fully equipped.  It was who should be called the ugliest.

We left amid the good wishes and laughter of our few remaining acquaintances.  Our wagon had been provided with a pair of excellent travelling horses, and, sister Margaret and myself being accommodated with the best pacers the country could afford, we set off in high spirits towards the Aux Plaines—­our old friend, Billy Caldwell (the Sau-ga-nash), with our brother Robert, and Gholson Kercheval, accompanying us to that point of our journey.

There was no one at Barney Lawton’s when we reached there, save a Frenchman and a small number of Indians.  My sister and I dismounted, and entered the dwelling, the door of which stood open.  Two Indians were seated on the floor, smoking.  They raised their eyes as we appeared, and never shall I forget the expression of wonder and horror depicted on the countenances of both.  Their lips relaxed until the pipe of one fell upon the floor.  Their eyes seemed starting from their heads, and raising their outspread hands, as if to wave us from them, they slowly ejaculated, “Manitou!" (a spirit.)

As we raised our masks, and, smiling, came forward to shake hands with them, they sprang to their feet and fairly uttered a cry of delight at the sight of our familiar faces.