"O Kitche Manitou! These places do I cut that our sister's spirit may come and go as she wills it, that she may visit us sometimes, that she may see our brother Machecawa when he is very sad." [Illustration: "Oh, Machecawa, my brother, it is not well that you grieve."] Again he turned to his chief. "Our sister is gone, oh, my brother," he continued, "but you shall see her again. But she shall be changed, and you will not know her; but when you enter the Land of the Hereafter then you must sing always this little song, and so she will know you." In a clear and true tenor old O'Jawescawa chanted a weird, minor air with tearful falling cadences. "And when she hears that song," he went on, "then she will answer it with this"--and he sang through another little song. The long-drawn, plaintive chords, the sense of awe inspired by the darkness and the firelight, and of the grave sad prayer, caused Mrs. Wright and her young flock to sob aloud. "And so in that way," concluded O'Jawescawa, "you shall know each other." The young men bore the remains to a grave that had been dug a short distance away in a pine grove. After the earth had been filled in, three of the women knelt and put together a miniature wigwam of birch-bark, complete in every detail. Then O'Jawescawa began again to speak, addressing the occupant of the grave in a low tone of confidence. "O Newitchewagan, our sister," said he, "I place this bow and these arrows in your lodge that you may be armed on the Long Journey. "O Niwitchiwagan, our sister, I place these snow-shoes in your lodge that you may be fleet on the Long Journey."* * The writer is indebted to Mr. S. E. White for this account of the squaw's burial. In like manner he deposited in the little wigwam extra moccasins, a model canoe and paddle, food, and a miniature robe. Then they all returned to their camp, all but Machecawa, who crouched on the ground by the grave, his blanket over his head, a silent, motionless figure of desolation. For three whole nights and days the Chief mourned for his squaw. Then he rose and went about his ordinary duties with unmoved countenance, and the grave was left to the sun and snow and rain and the mercy of all-forgetting Nature. CHAPTER IV. _AN INDIAN SUITOR._ 1803. Machecawa and his friend O'Jawescawa became frequent visitors at the Wigwam. They would come in the morning, uninvited, and sit silently all day long before the open fire and observe all that was going on. The spinning-wheel and hand-loom were objects of unceasing interest to them, and though it proved a great distraction to the children in their studies, and to the girls in the performance of their domestic duties, to have them there, they were always treated not only with respect but with consideration and kindness.