who for weeks
had been eagerly looking forward to this great event.

They were a motley company, all welcome, and all in the best of humour.
Chiefs and head men were receiving directions from the missionary,
transmitting them to the workers, and seeing that everything was done.
Happy busy women, under the loving guidance of the missionary's wife,
whom they simply idolised, were arranging the tables, for the equipment
of which, all the table necessaries of the village,--principally tin
cups and plates,--as well as of the mission pantry, were brought into
service. Great boilers and kettles of tea were brewed, and hundreds of
flat cakes, made of flour, water and a little salt, were baked in frying
pans or on top of the stoves, cut into large pieces, and made ready for
distribution.

While busy hands were thus employed in making these final arrangements
for the great feast, which generally began about one o'clock, the
hundreds of other Indians--especially the young men--were having various
sports outside. The toboggan slides of the schoolboys had many
visitors; and some lively games of football were played on the frozen
lake. The snow had been scraped away from a smooth hit of ice where the
active skaters showed their speed and skill. But the thoughts of all
were on the feast, and they were anxious for the sound of the bell that
would summon them to its enjoyment.

About the middle of the forenoon, there was a most interesting break in
the preparations. The chief would go to the missionary and ask for a
pencil and piece of writing paper. Then, taking with him one of the
principal men into the church, where the crowd of workers were busily
engaged, he would call for a short halt in the proceedings, and standing
on a bench, ask:

"How many of our people are sick, or aged, or wounded, and are thus
unable to be with us at the great feast to-day? Give me their names."

As the names were mentioned, they would be recorded; until, perhaps,
twenty or more were thus called out.

"Any more?" the chief would cry. "Let none be overlooked on this happy
day."

"Oh yes, there is an old bed-ridden woman, lying on her couch of rabbit
skins and balsam boughs, in a wigwam six miles up Jack River," says one.

"I heard, that there are two sick people left behind in a wigwam on the
island over near York village by the pagan Indians who have come to the
feast," says another.

"Put them down, of course. But stop! One of you go