th the agent he was smiling again,
and he said, "Your words are good."

The old crier went forth again calling: "Come to the dance-hall. The
white people desire to see you dance. Come clothed in your best
garments."

Then the drum began to utter its spasmodic signal, and the herald's
voice sounded faint and far off as he descended the path to the second
group of tepees.

"Shall we go now?" asked Mrs. Parker.

"Oh no, it will be two hours before they begin. The young men must go
and dress. We have time to sup and smoke a pipe."

"Oh! I'm so glad we're going to see a real Indian dance. I didn't
suppose it could be seen now--not the real thing."

Lawson smiled. "You'll think this is the real thing before you get
inside the door. I've known tenderfeet to weaken at the last moment."

Parker pretended to be a little nervous. "Suppose they should get hold
of some liquor."

"This band is too far away from the white man to have his vices,"
replied Curtis with a slight smile. He had wondered at Elsie's going,
but concluded she had grown weary of the old chief's speech.

"There is great charm in this life," said Lawson, as they all gathered
before their tent and sat overlooking the village and the lake. "I
sometimes wonder whether we have not complicated life without adding to
the sum of human happiness."

"I'm thinking of this in winter," said Elsie. "O-o-o! It must be
terrible! No furnace, no bath-tubs."

The others laughed heartily at the sincerity of her shudder, and Curtis
said:

"Well, now, you'd be surprised to know how comfortable they keep in
their tepees. In the old skin tepee they were quite warm even on the
coldest days. They always camp in sheltered places out of the wind, and
where fuel is plenty."

"At the same time I prefer my own way of living to theirs--when winter
comes."

"I know something of your logic," replied Curtis. "But I think I
understand the reluctance of these people when asked to give up the old
things. I love their life--their daily actions--this man coiling a
lariat--that child's outline against the tepee--the smell of their fresh
bread--the smoke of their little fires. I can understand a Tetong when
he says: 'All this is as sweet to me as your own life--why should I give
it up?' Feeling as I do, I never insist on their giving up anything
which is not an impediment. I argue with them, and show that some of
their ways are evil or a hinderance in the struggle for life under new
co