“‘Nay, then,’ said I, ‘don’t be angry, mother; here’s a bit o’ baccy to warm your old heart. But who is this you have got beside you?’ I asked, on observing a good-looking young girl, with a melancholy cast of countenance, seated in a dark corner of the wigwam, as if she sought concealment. I observed that she was whiter than Indians usually are, and supposed at first that she was a half-breed girl; but a second glance convinced me that she had little if any of the Indian blood in her veins.
“‘She is my only friend,’ said Old Moggy, her dark eye brightening as she glanced towards the girl. ‘She was to have been my son’s wife, but the Great Spirit took my son away. She is all that is left to me now.’
“The old woman’s voice trembled as she spoke the last few words, and she spread her skinny hands over the small fire that smouldered in the centre of the floor.
“I was proceeding to make further inquiries into this girl’s history, when the curtain-door of the tent was raised and Oolibuck thrust in his shaggy head.
“‘Please, sir, de ole chief him wants baccy. I have smoke all mine. Vill you give some?’
“‘Here you are,’ said I, throwing a lump to the Esquimau. ‘Send Maximus to me; I want to speak with him.’
“‘I is here,’ said Maximus, outside the tent.
“‘Ah! that’s right.—Now, Old Moggy, I’ll be back in a few minutes, so don’t go to sleep till I return.’
“As I was about to issue from the tent, the young girl passed me hastily, and, drawing the hood over her head and face, darted through the opening. I found Maximus gazing after her in surprise.
“‘Hallo, Maximus! what’s wrong? Do you think the girl’s a witch?’