While Nattie gazed her head wandered.
"I can see white beads," she said, "all over the baby's red dress,—Tiny! Tiny!"
"Tiny white beads, you mean," said the young mother. "But I don't see them, and I hope that you won't to-morrow."
But Nattie did see beads, Frenchmen burning wigwams and ghostly squaws, for many days and nights after this. Hardship, exposure and pain, brought on delirium and fever, so she was unconscious of surrounding objects, and knew not where she was or who attended to her wants. The old doctress came and went without opposition from Nattie now, and she passively swallowed the doses prescribed, however nauseous and bitter they proved to her taste. She was very gentle, and thanked her attendants with the most touching humility for every little kindness. They could not gather much from her disconnected, delirious murmuring, and forbore all questions until she was fully restored to consciousness. But
