She scolded her husband no more.
"What you going to do, my dear frau ?" he asked, in a voice as cooing and winning as a dove's.
"Going to work, to plant the corn, to get food for you and Quanonshet and Madokawandock when the snow falls." "Very kind, clever woman; good frau is mine Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock." "What are _you_ going to do ?" asked the wife, as the two passed out the wigwam.
"Going to shmoke and _meditate_--meditate _hard_," replied Hans Vanderbum, impressively.
"Can't you think as well while you're _fishing_ ?" "I shpose I can; if my Keewaygooshturkumkankangewock t'inks so, I can." "Well, she thinks so." The fact that his wife "thought so" was equivalent to a command with Hans.

He manifested no unwillingness or reluctance in obeying.
Accordingly, he furnished himself with a hook, line and bait, and set out for the river.
It was now getting well along in the forenoon, the sun being above the tree-tops.

The Shawnee Indians had left their wigwams to engage in their daily avocations.

The women were mostly toiling in the field, their pappooses hanging from the trees or leaning against their trunks.
The older children were frolicking through the woods, or fishing or hunting.

A few warriors and old men still lounged about the wigwams, but the majority either were engaged in the hunt, or were upon the war-trail.
Stolid and indifferent as was the nature of Hans, it struck him that there was something unusual in the appearance and actions of the Indians.