As soon as the speeches were ended all sat in circles. The Chief's circle was filled with his own family, his sisters and their families and his Canadian guest. The Chemokamons were by themselves. The Indians with their squaws and children had corn soup served with dried venison and fish. The soup was put in large pans with only one large wooden spoon or ladle. When one took a spoonful it was passed to the next and so on around the circle of about twelve or fifteen persons. The white people also had corn soup or maize, as it was called, corn pounded in a wooden mortar, with dried smoked venison and broiled white fish, baked potatoes and many other things which mother had prepared herself. There was much talking and laughing among the Indians as well as white people. The dogs ran round the outside of the circle and every time the drum was beaten they would yelp and bark while Bob would howl. The fawns and deer came near to us as if enjoying the sport, while the little cub bears scampered away to a cute little wigwam where they slept at night. All was mirth and gaiety. When the eating was over the Chief arose, raised his head high, giving thanks to the Great Spirit, and buried a small piece of silver to entreat good crops and full hunting grounds for that year. There was jumping and canoe paddling among the Indians, which ended the day's sport. There had been a white dog killed, as was the custom at their feasts. We saw the pelt stretched up to dry. Father told me many times that all went home at sunset much pleased with their day of pleasure and sport. The white people were delighted with Indian feasts and declared that no _White Dog_ had been served to them in _their Corn Soup_, knowing my mother had charge of their cooking. ENDING OF THE FEAST AND SAD ENDING OF A YOUNG LIFE.