In many of the villages there was a strangers home, a house, for
strangers where they were placed, while the old men went about collecting
skins for them to sleep upon, and food for them to eat, expecting no
reward.

They called it very rude for them to stare at them as they passed in the
streets, and said that they had as much curiosity as the white people,
but they did not gratify it by intruding upon them, by examining them.
They would sometimes hide behind trees in order to look at strangers, but
never stood openly and gaze at them.

Their respective attention to missionaries was often the result of their
rules of politeness, as it is a part of the Indian's code. Their councils
are eminent for decorum, and no person is interrupted during a speech.
Some Indians, after respectfully listening to a missionary, thought they
would relate to him some of their legends, but the good man could not
restrain his indignation, but pronounced them foolish fables, while what
he told them was sacred truth. The Indian was, in his turn, offended, and
said, we listened to your stories, why do you not listen to ours? you are
not instructed in the common rules of civility.

A hunter, in his wandering for game, fell among the back settlements of
Virginia, and on account of the inclemency of the weather, sought refuge
at the house of a planter, whom he met at the door. He was refused
admission. Being both hungry and thirsty, he asked for a bit of bread and
a cup of cold water. But the answer to every appeal was, "_You, shall
have nothing here, get you gone you Indian dog!_"

Some months afterwards this same planter lost himself in the woods, and
after a weary day of wandering, came to an Indian cabin, into which he