h bright
steadfast eyes and lath-like forms were their aiders, wives, and
companions. Among these came Miss Lois--then young Lois
Hinsdale--carried Westward by an aunt whose missionary zeal was burning
splendidly up an empty chimney which might have been filled with family
loves and cares, but was not: shall we say better filled? The
missionaries worked faithfully; but, as the Indians soon moved further
westward, the results of their efforts can not be statistically
estimated now, or the accounts balanced.

"The only good Indian is a dead Indian," is a remark that crystallizes
the floating opinion of the border. But a border population has not a
missionary spirit. New England, having long ago chased out, shot down,
and exterminated all her own Indians, had become peaceful and pious, and
did not agree with these Western carriers of shot-guns. Still, when
there were no more Indians to come to this island school, it was of
necessity closed, no matter which side was right. There were still
numbers of Chippewas living on the other islands and on the mainland;
but they belonged to the Roman Catholic faith, and were under the
control of Pere Michaux.

The Protestant church--a square New England meeting-house, with steeple
and bell--was kept open during another year; but the congregation grew
so small that at last knowledge of the true state of affairs reached the
New England purses, and it was decided that the minister in charge
should close this mission, and go southward to a more promising field
among the prairie settlers of Illinois. All the teachers connected with
the Indian school had departed before this--all save Miss Lois and her
aunt; for Priscilla Hinsdale, stricken down by her own intense energy,
which had consumed her as an inward fire, was now confined to her bed,
partially paralyzed. The New England woman had sold her farm, and put
almost all her little store of money into island property. "I shall live
and die here," she had said; "I have found my life-work." But her work
went away from her; her class of promising squaws departed with their
pappooses and their braves, and left her scholarless.

"With all the blessed religious privileges they have here, besides other
advantages, I can not at all understand it--I can not understand it,"
she repeated many times, especially to Sandy Forbes, an old Scotchman
and fervent singer of psalms.

"Aweel, aweel, Miss Priscilla, I donnot suppose ye can," replied Sandy,
wi