During this sickening ordeal, not a muscle of the old man's face quivered; not a groan escaped from his firmly set lips. To judge from his appearance, it might have been a stick that he was burning. When at length he drew back the crisp burnt finger of his now blistered hand, he held it toward his grandson and gave him another lecture, telling him among other things that if he ever expected to be great or honoured among his people, he must hear pain without flinching or uttering a cry. CHAPTER TEN. THE HONEST INDIAN; OR, VENISON FOR PEMMICAN. Years ago the missionaries living in the northern part of what were then known as the Hudson Bay territories, were often so remote from civilisation, that they were obliged to depend principally on fish and game for their livelihood. Hence, in times of scarcity, they welcomed the arrival of a hunter who came in with plenty of game. One cold wintry day, a man of this description made his appearance at our mission home. He was a fine stalwart Indian, and, in the quiet way of his people, came into our kitchen without knocking. Unstrapping from his back a fine haunch of venison, he threw it down upon the table. As our supplies of food were very limited at the time--for we were averaging hardly more than two good meals a day--I was glad to see this welcome addition; and so, after I had cordially greeted him, I said: "What shall I give you for this venison?" "I want nothing for it, as it belongs to you," was his answer. "You must be mistaken," I replied, "as I never saw you before, and have had no dealings with you." "Oh, but it does belong to you, and I want nothing more for it," he insisted. "Excuse me," I said, "but you _must_ let me pay you for it. We are very glad to get it, as there is little food in the house; but we have a rule here, that we pay the Indians for everything we get from them." The reason we had come to this determination, was because we had found by rather dear experience,--as we presume other missionaries on similar fields have,--that the natives have an idea the missionary is rich, or that he is backed up by wealthy churches; and, with unlimited resources at his disposal, is able to make large gifts in return for lesser ones received. A few rabbits, or a brace of ducks would be given with great politeness to the missionary or his wife. Then the donor, often accompanied by his wife and several children, would remain to dinner, and, in all probability, eat the greater part of the gift. Of course they must be asked to supper--and they had glorious appetites. As they still lingered on until time for retiring arrived, the missionary was at length obliged to hint, that he thought they would better go and see if their wigwam was where they left it in the morning. This would generally bring things to a crisis, and the man would say: "Ever since we came we have only been waiting to get the present you are going to give us for the one we gave you."