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 out and ask those who have come, if there are not more than those two left behind.”
Soon word comes in that there are not only these two sick ones, but a little girl with a broken leg.
“Put her name down, too.”
The list is again read over, and the question again asked: