ormation on _most_ places."
"Very well," I said, "I want to go from Chicago to the Arctic by the
Mackenzie River, returning home by the Peace and the Lesser Slave. Can
you tell me how long it will take, what it will cost, and how I make my
connections?" He was game; he didn't move an eyebrow, but went off to
the secret recesses in the back office to consult "the main guy," "the
chief squeeze," "the head push," "the big noise." Back they came
together with a frank laugh, "Well, Miss Cameron, I guess you've got us.
Cook's have no schedule to the Arctic that way." They were able,
however, to give accurate information as to how one should reach Hudson
Bay, with modes of travel, dates, and approximate cost. But this journey
for another day.

Leaving Chicago one sizzling Sunday in mid-May, we (my niece and I) stop
for a day to revel in bird and blossoms at Lake Minnetonka in Minnesota,
then silently in the night cross the invisible parallel of 49 deg. where the
eagle perches and makes amorous eyes at the beaver.

With the Polar Ocean as ultimate goal, we cannot help thinking how
during the last generation the Arctic Circle has been pushed steadily
farther north. Forty years ago Minneapolis and St. Paul were struggling
trading-posts, and all America north of them was the range of the
buffalo and the Indian. Then Fort Garry (Winnipeg) became Farthest
North. Before starting, I had dug out from the Public Library the record
of a Convention of Wheat-Growers who, fifteen years ago in Chicago,
deliberately came to the conclusion (and had the same engrossed on their
minutes) that "Our Northern tier of States is too far north to
successfully grow wheat." For years Winnipeg was considered the northern
limit of wheat-growth, the Arctic Circle of endeavour. Then that line of
limitation was pushed farther back until it is
Edmonton-on-the-Saskatchewan that is declared "Farthest North." To-day
we are embarking on a journey which is to reach two thousand miles due
north of Edmonton!

In the train between Minneapolis and Winnipeg an old man with a be-gosh
beard looks worth while. We tell him where we are going, and he is all
interest. He remembers the time when Montreal merchants wishing to reach
Fort Garry had to bend down by way of St. Paul to gain their goal. These
were the days of Indian raids and bloody treachery. "But," the old chap
says, "the Hudson's Bay people always played fa'r and squar' with the
Injuns. Even in them days the In