I know hundreds of Indians who live so far North that they have never in their lives seen a motor car, a steamer, a railway or an electric light.

A few years ago one of our best hunters asked us, as a great favor, to be allowed to go through to the line as one of the crew of the mail canoes which our trader sends twice a year to the nearest town four hundred miles away.

The man had never been there and was very keen to see the white man’s land. When he reached the frontier town at the head of the railway he showed no surprise. He inspected thoroughly all that was to be seen and kept his mouth obstinately closed. After a while, knowing that the canoes could not leave before a week, the Indian asked permission to go to Montreal with the mail clerk. The latter, who knew him well and who spoke Cree fluently, undertook to look after him. He traveled for two days and two nights in a day coach and, outside of the fact that he absolutely refused to leave the train at any moment for fear of seeing it go off without him, he appeared to enjoy the trip.

In Montreal he seemed to fight shy of the streets and preferred to remain in the lobby of the small hotel where a room had been reserved for him. He sat there all day, looking through the window.

On his return to the hunting grounds, he met me on my way south and told me how much he had liked his journey to the big city. Through sheer curiosity, I asked him then what had surprised him the most while he was in civilization. Was it the sight of the trains, motor cars, street cars, the telephone, the electric lights or the stone houses? No, none of these things seemed to have impressed him in the slightest. Finally he admitted that there was one thing that had astonished him, and that was the people in the street in front of his hotel. All those people walking so fast and passing one another without a sign. People who never stopped to speak. People who did not seem to know one another. That, he could not fathom at all.