The Indians, for some reason, did not pay their accustomed visit to the
lake this season. Indiana said they might be engaged with war among some
hostile tribes, or had gone to other hunting grounds. The winter was
unusually mild, and it was long before it set in. Yet the spring following
was tardy, and later than usual. It was the latter end of May before
vegetation had made any very decided progress.
The little loghouse presented a neat and comfortable appearance, both
within and without. Indiana had woven a handsome mat of bass bark for the
floor; Louis and Hector had furnished it with very decent seats and a
table, rough, but still very respectably constructed, considering their
only tools were a tomahawk, a knife, and wooden wedges for splitting the
wood into slabs. These Louis afterwards smoothed with great care and
patience. Their bedsteads were furnished with thick, soft mate, woven by
Indiana and Catharine, from rushes which they cut and dried; but the little
squaw herself preferred lying on a mat or deer-skin on the floor before the
fire, as she had been accustomed.
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