toes are always seen
there, after the death of a friend, and one may always know, by their
number, how many of that household have gone to the spirit-land. It is
usually placed upright in the spot where the departed was accustomed to
sit, dressed in the same ornaments and bands that he wore while living.
At every family meal, a portion of food is set before it. If it be a
child who has died, the mother offers it a cup of milk, wraps it in the
cradle bands of her lost infant, and bears it about with her wherever
she goes.

An Indian grave is a protected spot. That which is described above, was
surrounded by a small enclosure of logs, and covered with a roof of
bark, to shield it from the rain. At its head, a small round post was
set, painted with vermilion. Other decorations were displayed upon the
wall of the enclosure, which were carefully guarded, and frequently
replaced, as they were soiled by the rains, or torn and defaced by the
violence of the winds. Day after day, the bereaved mother and sister
visited that grave, taking their work with them, and sitting down by its
side, chanted their plaintive lullaby to that sleeping infant, and
cheered on that faithful dog in his wearisome journey, charging him not
to lag or go astray in traversing the plain, nor suffer his precious
burden to fall into the water, in crossing the deep dark rapid river to
the spirit land.

Weeks and months had passed since that humble grave was made, and that
precious treasure confided to its bosom. It was a calm glorious evening
in mid-summer. The moon shone brightly on the Itean encampment. There
was not, in the whole valley of the west, a more beautiful spot for a
settlement. The smooth open green-sward was closely surrounded with
trees on three sides. On the other, the land gradually sloped towards
the river, which flowed quietly by, ever and anon sparkling in the
moonbeams, or reflecting the dark forest and flowery banks in its azure
depths.

The wigwams in the opening were all closed. Their inmates were at rest.
Presently, the buffalo-skin, that served as a door to the principal
cabin, was drawn aside, and the beautiful daughter of the chief emerged
into the light, and passed swiftly on to the river. Following its
course a short distance, by the narrow path that threaded the woods on
its bank, she came to the little grave, threw herself on the earth by
its side, and wept. It was Monica, the sister of that buried infant, the
same whom