Christmas, when my husband would give them a double allowance of
rations, they would come before our house, fire off their guns as a
token of joy and thanks, and then proceed with their feast and never
stop until they had the double allowance all eaten up and not a scrap
left for the next day.

In my own sphere I was often quite amused with the young squaws. They
used to do my house-work for me. I would do each special thing for
them--from cleaning, scrubbing, washing, cooking to sewing, fancy
work, &c. and they would rival each other in learning to follow me.
They would feel as proud when they could perform some simple little
work, as a child feels when he has learned his A. B. Cs. With time and
care, good house-keepers could be made of many of them, and it is too
bad to see so many clever, naturally gifted, bright creatures left in
ignorance and misery. I think it was in Gray's Elegy that I read the
line: "How many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its
fragrance on the desert air."

When I look back over these three years, I feel a pang of more than
sorrow. Ours was a happy home; I grew to like my surroundings, I
became fond of my Indian protegees, and to crown all, in December
last, Mrs. Gowanlock came to live near us. I felt that even though a
letter from home should be delayed, that I would not feel as lonesome
as before. My husband was generous to a fault. He was liked by all the
bands;--our white neighbours were few, but they were splendid people,
fast and true friends, and I might say since Mrs. Gowanlock arrived, I
felt at home; I looked upon the place as my own, and the Indian
children as my children; the same as my husband looked upon the men as
his care, and they regarded him as a father. It was no longer to be a
lonely life. It was to become a life of usefulness, joy, labor, peace