All things at the Egyptian Hall went on as usual for several days, the Indians giving their nightly entertainments, but without the aid of the "_Strong Wind_," and consequently without the presence of the "languishing little black eyes" that used to be seen peeping over the corner of the platform. The reader (who has heard already that the "_Strong Wind_" loved to ride home with this sweet little creature--that he took his dishes of tea in her father's house, which was next door--and that he often stayed there until twelve and one o'clock at night) can easily understand how the time now passed with the "_Strong Wind_," and how hopeless were to be the chances of the good dame who had "gone to the country but for a few days, where she had promised to go, but from which she was soon to return." The reader who is old enough will easily understand also why the "_Strong Wind_" grew pale; how it was that everything ceased to taste good--beautiful things to look pretty; and why I had to translate, as well as I could, the speeches of the Indians, who now had no better interpreter. The exhibition-room continued to be filled night after night without the presence of the "_Strong Wind_;" and at length, on one of these occasions, the "jolly fat dame," who had gone to the country for a few days, presented herself at the door as usual before the audience had assembled. She was admitted by Daniel's kindness; and as she got into the passage, the party of Indians came in from their omnibus, and, passing her, gave her their hands, and as they passed on each one gave a hideous yell. She seemed delighted at this, and, turning to Daniel, said, "Oh, did you hear the poor fellows rejoicing? they are delighted to see me back again." "Why, madam," said Daniel, "that was the _war-whoop_; and when that is given, the tomahawk always follows." She seemed a little startled at this; "But," said she, "the good fellows, I have lots of fine presents here for them to-night; I can make it all right with them I think. But I don't see Cadotte--I hope he's not sick--he's a splendid fellow--I have not seen a man like him in all my travels in the country, and I have been a great way. I have a nice present for him, d'ye see?--is'nt that a fine brooch? I know he'll like it." "But I fear you are too late, madam--I believe it is all over with him." "What! you don't mean to say that he is dead?" "No, he's not dead, but he's nearly as bad--he don't come here at all--he don't eat or drink--he's pining away for that pretty little girl I told you of. It's been all her doing: the foolish girl fell in love with him, and is determined to have him, and I believe he will marry her." "Oh, pshaw! fie on it! I don't believe a word of it;--they will get over it all in a day or two." The kind lady after this took her position in the Hall as usual, and during the exhibition smiled on all the group, and dealt out her presents to them, and went home as usual well pleased.