"Could you not tell us a traveller's story of some strange peoplethat we have never heard of before?" said Harry to his mother, thenext evening.
After a moment or two of thought, Mis. Chilton said, "Yes, I willtell you about a people who are great travellers. They take journeysevery year of their lives. They dislike cold weather so much thatthey go always before winter, so as to find a warmer climate."
"They usually meet together, fathers, mothers, and children, as wellas uncles, aunts, and cousins, but more especially grandfathers andgrandmothers, and decide whither they shall go. As their party is solarge, it is important that they should make a good decision."
"When they are all prepared, and their mind quite made up, they allset off together. I am told that they make as much noise, on thisoccasion, as our people make at a town-meeting; but as I was neverpresent at one of the powwows of these remarkable travellers, Icannot say."
"What is a powwow?" asked Harry.
"It is the name the Indians give to their council meetings," repliedMis. Chilton.
She went on. "This people, so fond of travelling, have no greatlearning; they write no books; they have no geographies, nosteamboats, no railroads, but yet never mistake their way."
"Four-footed travellers, I guess," said Harry.
"By no means; they have no more legs than any other greattravellers; but you must not interrupt me."
"Well, to go back to our travellers; every one is ready and glad toprepare apartments for them, such as they like. They are so lively,so merry, and good-natured, that they find a welcome every where.They are such an easy, sociable set of folks that they like a housethus prepared for them just as well as if they had built itthemselves."
"I have been told that when they arrive at any place, before theywash themselves, or brush off the dust of their journey, they willgo directly to one of these houses that has been prepared for them,and examine every part of it; and, if they like it, they seem tothink they have, of course, a right to it, and they take possessiondirectly, and say, 'Thank you' to nobody."
"No one is affronted with them; but every one is ready and glad toaccommodate the strangers as well as he can, merely for the sake oftheir good company. They come to us in May, and leave our part ofthe country in August, to visit other lands.
"The great reason, I think, that all the world welcomes thesetravellers is, that they are such a happy, merry set of beings theymake every one around them cheerful; their gayety is never-failing.They rise with the first streak of light; there are no sluggardsamong them. They are all musical, and sing as they go about theirwork; but their music pleases me best when they join in theirmorning hymn. When the morning star is growing pale, and rosy lighttinges the edges of the soft clouds in the east, this choir ofsingers stop for a second, as if waiting, in silent reverence, forthe glad light to appear; then, just as the first ray gilds the hilltops and the village spire, all pour forth a joyful song, swellingtheir little throats, and making such a loud noise that every sleepyhead in the neighborhood awakes."
"Ah! now I have