She secured as a first pupil an Indian by the name of Curley. Finding that he and his family lived in a tent of skins, she thought that she would build for him a house, and promised him that she would go and visit him when it was completed. “What kind of a house would you like to have, Curley?” she asked, one day after he had been especially teachable. “Oh, a white house like the Great Father’s at Washington.” “Aunt Boston” gave Curley one hundred dollars to build a white house, and he rode away delighted, on his little Cayuse horse. Weeks passed; Christmas came, and good Aunt Boston thought that she would ride over to the reservation and surprise Curley in the new white house, which she had not yet seen. The thought greatly pleased her, as Curley had told her that he was raising a Cayuse colt as a present for her. So she set out on Christmas morning in a mountain wagon. The air was clear and warm, for the Puget Sound atmosphere is an almost continuous springtime. The tops of the giant firs were filled with sunlight instead of snow. Here and there a deer bounded across the way. She came at last to a clearing, and saw the white house. There was no mistaking it. Close by was a tent of skins, which she took to be the former habitation of Curley. She rode up to the white house. The window was open. The rattle of the wheels had caused a commotion in the interesting place. A pretty Cayuse colt put his head out of the window of the white house, and Curley at the same time opened the fold of the tent. Aunt Boston was quite outdone in her plan of benevolence. Curley had made the white house a stable for _her_ colt, and was as happy as she in his plans of benevolence and charity. An Episcopal missionary recently told me, to his own disadvantage, the following story, which illustrates the same generous trait in the Puget Sound Indians:— “There once came to the mission station on a visit an old Christian Indian, and he continued to make the mission his home. In my early work in the territory I had lived with him, and had found him very brotherly and benevolent. He had shared everything with me. “A month or more passed, and as he gave me no hint of departure, and did nothing toward the support of himself or the cause, I said to him,— “‘Mountain Pine, you have been here two moons; how much longer do you intend to stay?’ “‘It may be one week, it may be one month, it may be one year, it may be one life.’ “‘But, Mountain Pine, the Good Book says that if a man do not work, neither shall he eat.’ “Mountain Pine rose slowly, and drew his blanket around him. He raised his arm and pointed to the chapel. “‘Do you _wah-wah_ over there?’ “‘Yes, you know, Mountain Pine, there is where I worship.’