The dessert consisted of bread and honey, which
were liberally partaken of by all at table.
Little was said by either host or guests, until the supper was
finished, when the whole party left the chiente, to enjoy their
pipes in the cool evening air, beneath the oaks of the grove in
which the dwelling stood. Their conversation began to let the
parties know something of each other's movements and characters.
"YOU are a Pottawattamie, and YOU a Chippewa," said le Bourdon, as
he courteously handed to his two red guests pipes of theirs, that he
had just stuffed with some of his own tobacco--"I believe you are a
sort of cousins, though your tribes are called by different names."
"Nation, Ojebway," returned the elder Indian, holding up a finger,
by way of enforcing attention.
"Tribe, Pottawattamie," added the runner, in the same sententious
manner.
"Baccy, good"--put in the senior, by way of showing he was well
contented with his comforts.
"Have you nothin' to drink?" demanded Whiskey Centre, who saw no
great merit in anything but "firewater."
"There is the spring," returned le Bourdon, gravely; "a gourd hangs
against the tree.
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