she would neither eat, drink, nor sleep, but just lie there, in the smoke and filth of that disgusting Indian wigwam, and cry herself to death.
Instead of this, she only cried herself to sleep. Poor Nattie! your sorrows are only just begun.
The old squaw started up from her nap, after a while, and began to make preparations for retiring, by spreading mats and blankets un the ground around the fire. The old Indian got up and went to Nattie's corner.
"Arise, Tulip," he said;—"this is the name which I give you, because of your red lips; arise, and come into the midst of your new brethren. The squaw shall bring you a bowl of broth, and then you shall lie down after the fashion of our people, and sleep."
The first sound of his deep voice above her head, caused Nattie to awake. She stared in his dark face, and, though dreading to approach the circle by the fire, dared not disobey his command. There was an iron pot in the corner, into
