All being safely landed, a short walk brought us to the house of Mr. Dixon.  Although so recently come into the country, he had contrived to make everything comfortable around him; and when he ushered us into Mrs. Dixon’s sitting-room, and seated us by a glowing wood fire, while Mrs. Dixon busied herself in preparing us a nice supper, I felt that the comfort overbalanced the inconvenience of such a journey.

Mrs. Dixon was surrounded by several children.  One leaning against the chimney-piece was dressed in the full Indian costume—­calico shirt, blanket, and leggings.  His dark complexion, and full, melancholy eyes, which he kept fixed upon the ashes in which he was making marks with a stick, rarely raising them to gaze on us, as children are wont to do, interested me exceedingly, and I inquired of an intelligent little girl, evidently a daughter of our host,—­

“Who is that boy?”

“Oh, that is John Ogie,” answered she.

“What is the matter with him? he looks very sad.”

“Oh, he is fretting after his mother.”

“Is she dead, then?”

“Some say she is dead, and some say she is gone away.  I guess she is dead, and buried up in one of those graves yonder”—­pointing to two or three little picketed inclosures upon a rising ground opposite the window.

I felt a strong sympathy with the child, which was increased when the little spokeswoman, in answer to my inquiry, “Has he no father?” replied,—­

“Oh, yes, but he goes away, and drinks, and don’t care for his children.”

“And what becomes of John then?”

“He stays here with us, and we teach him to read, and he learns dreadful fast.”

When the boy at length turned his large dark eyes upon me, it went to my heart.  It was such a motherless look.  And it was explained when, long afterwards, I learned his further history.  His mother was still living, and he knew it, although, with the reserve peculiar to his people, he never spoke of her to his young companions.  Unable to endure the continued ill treatment of her husband, a surly, intemperate Canadian, she had left him, and returned to her own family among the Pottowattamies.  Years after, this boy and a brother who had also been left behind with their father found their way to the Upper Missouri, to join their mother, who, with the others of her tribe, had been removed by the Government from the shores of Lake Michigan.

A most savory supper of ducks and venison, with their accompaniments, soon smoked upon the board, and we did ample justice to it.  Travelling is a great sharpener of the appetite, and so is cheerfulness; and the latter was increased by the encouraging account Mr. Dixon gave us of the remainder of the route yet before us.