rewd
and close in all their bargains, and exhibit a surprising degree of
caution in their dealings. The men are much less difficult to trade with
than the women: they display a singular pertinacity in some instances.
If they have fixed their mind on any one article, they will come to you
day after day, refusing any other you may offer to their notice. One of
the squaws fell in love with a gay chintz dressing-gown belonging to my
husband, and though I resolutely refused to part with it, all the squaws
in the wigwam by turns came to look at "gown," which they pronounced
with their peculiarly plaintive tone of voice; and when I said "no gown
to sell," they uttered a melancholy exclamation of regret, and went
away.

They will seldom make any article you want on purpose for you. If you
express a desire to have baskets of a particular pattern that they do
not happen to have ready made by them, they give you the usual vague
reply of "by-and-by." If the goods you offer them in exchange for theirs
do not answer their expectations, they give a sullen and dogged look or
reply, "_Car-car_" (no, no), or "_Carwinni_," which is a still more
forcible negative. But when the bargain pleases them, they signify their
approbation by several affirmative nods of the head, and a note not much
unlike a grunt; the ducks, fish, venison, or baskets, are placed beside
you, and the articles of exchange transferred to the folds of their
capacious blankets, or deposited in a sort of rushen wallets, not unlike
those straw baskets in which English carpenters carry their tools.

The women imitate the dresses of the whites, and are rather skilful in
converting their purchases. Many of the young girls can sew very neatly.
I often give them bits of silk and velvet, and braid, for which they
appear very thankful.

I am just now very busy with my garden. Some of our vegetable seeds are
in the ground, though I am told we have been premature; there being ten
chances to one but the young plants will be cut off by the late frosts,
which are often felt through May, and even the beginning of June.

Our garden at present has nothing to boast of, being merely a spot of
ground enclosed with a rough unsightly fence of split rails to keep the
cattle from destroying the vegetables. Another spring, I hope to have a
nice fence, and a portion of the ground devoted to flowers. This spring
there is so much pressing work to be done on the land in clearing for
the crops, th