when a family loses a child by death, neighbors visit
them to cheer and console. They gather around the
fire and smoke, talk kindly and naturally, telling the
sorrowing parents not to grieve too much, reminding
them of the better lot of their child in another world
and of the troubles and trials the little ones escape
by dying young, all this in a perfectly natural, straight-
forward way, wholly unlike the vacant, silent, hesi-
tating behavior of most civilized friends, who often-
times in such cases seem nonplussed, awkward, and
afraid to speak, however sympathetic.

The Thlinkits are fond and indulgent parents. In
all my travels I never heard a cross, fault-finding word,
or anything like scolding inflicted on an Indian child,
or ever witnessed a single case of spanking, so common
in civilized communities. They consider the want of
a son to bear their name and keep it alive the saddest
and most deplorable ill-fortune imaginable.

The Thlinkit tribes give a hearty welcome to Chris-
tian missionaries. In particular they are quick to
accept the doctrine of the atonement, because they
themselves practice it, although to many of the
civilized whites it is a stumbling-block and rock of
offense. As an example of their own doctrine of
atonement they told Mr. Young and me one evening
that twenty or thirty years ago there was a bitter war
between their own and the Sitka tribe, great fighters,
and pretty evenly matched. After fighting all summer
in a desultory, squabbling way, fighting now under
cover, now in the open, watching for every chance for
a shot, none of the women dared venture to the salmon-

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