But to return to our party. It was a glorious moonlight night, and the young people would probably have kept up the sport the whole night long had not Ephraim announced that the "lateer" was ready.
The cushions and buffalo robes were then taken from the sleighs and spread upon the snow, and the gentlemen served each lady with a block of hard snow, upon which had been poured some of the boiling sugar, which immediately hardened into "lateer," or taffy.
For a time there was a lull in the babel of voices, when suddenly their attention was arrested by the sound of a stealthy step of moccasined feet on the crust, and the tall, stately form of an Indian emerged from the woods.
"Hullo, Machecawa, is that you?" said the Chief. "You are just in time. We want you to show us how to dance the war-dance, and then we shall give you a good tin of 'sucre.'"
Machecawa was quite equal to the emergency, for when asked by the Chief if he liked sugar he replied:
"Ba, oui," with a decided emphasis on the "oui." Then approaching the fire, he asked:
"Who belongs to dees pot?" pointing to the huge kettle.
"It belongs to Mrs. Bancroft, who will give you a good share of sugar if you will dance for us."
The young people laughed heartily as Machecawa stamped and danced and sang a strange monotonous song. Not a muscle of his face betrayed fun or amusement. He went through with it all as gravely and seriously as though he were about to rush into conflict with his enemies, the inevitable whoop terminating the ludicrous performance.
By this time the sugar was ready to pour into moulds. Mrs. Bancroft had removed the small kettle from the fire, and was stirring it vigorously, when she called: