The despair of the horror-stricken mother was now approaching a climax.  She already beheld in idea the frightful mangled corpses of her murdered children upon that hearth which had so often been the scene of their innocent gambols.  Instinctively she clasped the two youngest to her breast at a forward movement of the Indian.  With streaming eyes she was about to throw herself at his feet, as he advanced towards her with the dreaded weapons in his hands, and implore his mercy for herself and her babes.  What then was her surprise and joy when he gently laid the rifle, knife, and tomahawk beside her, signifying by this action that she had nothing to fear at his hands*.

[* It is almost an invariable custom now for the Indians on entering a dwelling-house to leave all their weapons, as rife, tomahawk, &c., outside the door, even if the weather be ever so wet; as they consider it unpolite to enter a family dwelling armed.]

A reprieve to a condemned criminal at the moment previous to his execution was not more welcome than this action of the Indian to the poor widow.  Eager to prove her confidence and her gratitude at the same time, she hastened to prepare food for the refreshment of the now no longer dreaded guest; and, assisted by the eldest of her children, put clean sheets and the best blankets on her own bed, which she joyfully devoted to the accommodation of the stranger.  An expressive “Hugh! hugh!” was the only reply to this act of hospitality; but when he went to take possession of his luxurious couch he seemed sorely puzzled.  It was evident the Indian had never seen, and certainly never reposed on, an European bed.  After a mute examination of the bed-clothes for some minutes, with a satisfied laugh, he sprang upon the bed, and, curling himself up like a dog, in a few minutes was sound asleep.

By dawn of day the Indian had departed; but whenever he came on the hunting-grounds in the neighbourhood of the widow, she was sure to see him.  The children, no longer terrified at his swarthy countenance and warlike weapons, would gather round his knees, admire the feathered pouch that contained his shot, finger the beautiful embroidered sheath that held the hunting-knife, or the finely-worked mocassins and leggings; whilst he would pat their heads, and bestow upon them an equal share of caresses with his deer-hounds.

Such was the story related to me by a young missionary.  I thought it might prove not uninteresting, as a trait of character of one of these singular people. Chiboya (for that was the name of the Indian) was one of the Chippewas of Rice Lake, most of whom are now converts to Christianity, and making considerable advancement in civilisation and knowledge of agriculture.  Hunting and fishing, however, appear to be their favourite pursuits:  for these they leave the comfortable houses at the Indian villages, and return at stated times to their forest haunts.  I believe it is generally considered that their numbers are diminishing, and some tribes have become nearly if not totally extinct in the Canadas*.  The race is slowly passing away from the face of the earth, or mingling by degrees with the colonists, till, a few centuries hence, even the names of their tribes will scarcely remain to tell that they once existed.