IN THE INDIAN TEPEE The rain had ceased, when Grace, the first of her party to awaken, looked out as she lay on her browse bed.

The river was shining in the morning sun, glassy, save here and there where its waters rippled over a shallow of gravel.
"Turn out!" she shouted.

"This is too wonderful to miss.

Oh, look!" A canoe, with an Indian crouching in its stern wielding a paddle, was skimming across the stream, not a sound or splash of paddle, nor hardly a ripple from it to be heard or seen.
"It's Willy Horse.

Hurry, girls! Don't miss this wonderful nature canvas." Exclamations were heard from all the girls after they had rubbed the sleep from their eyes.