Now we are at home and I am thankful. There they nestle in a pretty
valley, the simple house, the store, and beside the brook, the mill.
The music of the workman's hammer alone breaks the stillness that
pervades the scene, and the hills send back the echo without a
discordant note. The hills were covered with trees, principally poplar
and spruce, interspersed with berry-bearing shrubs. A most beautiful
and enchanting location.
That little settlement of our own was situated upon Frog Creek, about
three miles west of the lake of the same name, and distant from the
Frog Lake Settlement, our nearest white neighbours, about two miles.
But we had neighbours close by, who came in to see us the next day,
shaking hands and chatting to us in Cree, of which language we knew
but little. The Indians appeared to be very kind and supplied us with
white fish twice a week which they procured from the river for which
in return we gave sugar, tea, prints, &c., from the store. Christmas
and New Year's were celebrated in about the same manner that they are
amongst us civilized people. Both Indians and squaws put on their good
clothes, which at the best of times is very scant, and do their
calling. They salute the inmates of each house they enter with a
congratulatory shake, expecting to be kissed in return. Just think of
having to kiss a whole tribe of Indians in one day, that part we would
rather do by proxy.
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