She then knelt, and prayed.
Some time was spent in prayer by Netnokwa, and then spreading their pukkwi, and kindling up the fire, they lay around it, and nestling up close to each other, slept away the night.
What a contrast had a few short months exhibited in the fortunes of the captive;—one too so young, so beautiful, and so innocent that one would have deemed her well calculated to disarm even fate of its ire.—Yes, but a few short months had elapsed since she was in the possession of parents, of friends, and the comforts of life. They have passed, and she is an orphan, dwelling in the wilderness, and suffering with want. Yet it was not hunger, nor bodily suffering which caused her melancholy, but the loneliness of her situation, and the gloom which hung over the future, brought up and educated as she had been, and yet doomed to wear out her days in an Indian wigwam.
For some time she slept not, but thought of the past. She was sad, and as the storm hurried howling around her little dwelling, she clung closer to Miskwa, and felt a sympathy, in the driving blast, whose notes touched a chord in unison with her own feelings, and even made her more sad;—yet it was the joy of sorrow! for she contrasted the present with the past, and her mind separating the sweet from the bitter, dwelt only on the brighter recollections of her earlier days.
At last, day came, and with it came want, and knawing hunger, and the prospect of starving to death; but with all this, never did a more beautiful morn greet the children of Adam. The atmosphere was pure and cloudless, and the reflection of the sun from the wide unbroken waste of snow which lay before them, created a light as bright as though it were reflected from so much burnished silver. The inmates of the lodge having ventured out, were warmed into buoyancy of spirits by its genial rays, and bright gleams of happiness for a moment passed before them, upon beholding the dazzling splendour of the scene. Even Netnokwa's swarthy features were moved, and the flow of earlier feelings seemed struggling with the infirmities of age; but they soon departed, and her present situation, with its sad circumstances, was all she saw; calling her children to her, for she was pleased to regard the captive in that light, she said:—
“My children, Netnokwa prayed last night to the Great Spirit. When you slept, he came in a dream to me, and said: ‘Netnokwa, you shall feast to-morrow, and plenty shall be in your wigwam.’ And a vision passed before me, and in it I saw a stream, which found its way to the lake now before me, and near its source, I saw a slaughtered bear. Will Miskwa bring this meat to her mother?”
“Yes, and thank thee too,” said Miskwa;—and filled with life and animation, she entered the hut, wrapped herself in furs, and seizing her rifle, was equipped for the chase. Walking to the door, she discharged it, saying, “Mother, the bear will be lucky which escapes me to-day,” and then commenced reloading it.
“Thou art right, Miskwa,” said her mother;—“thy gun should not fail thee when thou art hungry.”
“Say when my mother is hungry,” said Miskwa, “and ‘Sweet Flower’ drooping in our wigwam.”
Having rammed down the powder, she thrust her little hand into her pockets, and drawing forth several balls, held them out to the captive, “Wilt thou by choosing, give good luck to the red maiden, ‘Sweet Flower?’” said she.