oing urbanity--slightly mingled with mild superiority to things in
general. Whatever rank of life they belong to they lay themselves out
with persistent resolution to do as little work as they can; to make
other people do as much work for them as possible; to get out of life as
much of enjoyment as may be attainable--consistently, of course, with
the incurable indolence--and, to put off as long as may be the evil day
which, they perceive or suspect, must inevitably be coming.

The curious thing about this race of beings is, that, whether in high or
low station, they are never ashamed of themselves--or of their position
as drones in the world's hive. They seem rather to apologise for their
degradation as a thing inevitable, for which they are not accountable--
and sometimes, in the case of the rich, as a thing justifiable.

"I'm glad I did not go to the plains this fall," said La Certe, stirring
the logs on the fire with his toe and emitting a prolonged sigh of
mingled smoke and contentment, while a blast from the bleak nor'-west
shook every blackened rafter in his little hut.

"Heel hee!" responded his wife, whose Indian name--translated--was
Slowfoot, and might have been Slowtongue with equal propriety, for she
was quite an adept at the art of silence. She frequently caused a
giggle to do duty for speech. This suited her husband admirably, for he
was fond of talking--could tell a good story, sing a good song, and
express his feelings in a good hearty laugh.

"Yes, it will be hard for the poor boys who have gone to the plains, the
weather is so awful, to say nothing of the women."

"Ho," replied Slowfoot--though what she meant to express by this no
mortal knows--nor, perhaps, cares. It meant nothing bad, however, for
she smiled seraphically and sent forth a stream of smoke, which,
mingling with that just emitted by her husband, rose in a curling
harmony to the roof.

Slowfoot was not a bad-looking woman as North American Indians go. She
was brown unquestionably, and dirty without doubt, but she had a
pleasant expression, suggestive of general good-will, and in the budding
period of life must have been even pretty. She was evidently older than
her husband, who might, perhaps, have been a little over thirty.

"I should not wonder," continued La Certe, "if the buffalo was drove
away, and the people starved this year. But the buffalo, perhaps, will
return in time to save them."

"Hm!" responded the wife, hel