They had drawn up before the house, and were trying to make Vaughn and his mamma understand that they were thirsty.  One of the braves had a dog under his blanket; and the little fellow looked very queer as he poked his head out, and watched us.  I pointed the band to the town-well, a short distance down the street; and they said, “Ugh!” and rode away in Indian-file.

Another day, an old Indian, with a nose like a young elephant’s, rode up to the drug-store, and asked, in Indian lingo, for some tobacco.  The druggist cut off a large slice of “black navy,” and, stepping out on the sidewalk, handed it to the happy old fellow, who, returning his thanks by sundry nods and grunts, opened the folds of his blanket, and drew out the most laughable tobacco-pouch you ever saw.  As sure as you live, it was a whole skunk-skin, with jaws, teeth, ears, and all!

Just as he was about to drive away, the lady-teacher and a drove of boys and girls came pouring out of the school-room.  The Indian looked a little blank, and, glancing first at the lady and then at the children, remarked admiringly, “Heap squaw! heap pappoose!” (The innocent old wild gentleman had taken them all for one family).

A chief with his two squaws and two pappooses were coaxed into a picture-car, one day, to be photographed.  They seemed afraid of the three-legged animal with the round glass eye; but, at last, one of the squaws was induced to take her seat, baby in arms.  The baby bawled lustily, till I quieted him by jingling a bunch of keys, while the artist got the focus.

Then I glanced through the camera, and the sight was so pretty and queer, that I induced the chief to take a peep; and when he saw the very minute copy of his spouse and child, standing on their heads, he nearly shook himself to pieces with silent laughter.

VAUGHN’S PAPA.

THE FIRST-COMER.

    The drift by the gateway is dingy and low;
    And half of yon hillside is free from the snow: 
    Among the dead rushes the brook’s flowing now. 
    And here’s Pussy Willow again on the bough!

    “Hi, ho, Pussy Willow!  Say, why are you here?”
    “I’ve brought you a message:  ’The Summer is near! 
    All through the long winter, uneasy I’ve slept: 
    To hear the wild March wind, half listening, I kept.

    “Loud blew his shrill whistle, and up and awake,
    My brown cloak from off me I’ve ventured to shake;
    Thrice happy in being the first one to say,
    ‘Rejoice, for the Summer is now on her way!’

    “The moss-hidden Mayflowers will blossom ere long,
    And gay robin redbreast be trilling a song: 
    But, always before them, I’m sure to be here: 
    ’Tis first Pussy Willow says, ‘Summer is near!’”

MARIAN DOUGLAS

WIDE AWAKE.