through a thick-knit stand of pines, the people in the
wagons are instinctively reticent and subdued, but, upon emerging into
open space where there are only birches to throw a shimmering wayward
shadow, 'tis observable that every one laughs or sings. It was _La
Marseillaise_ the eight Oblate Brothers sang, and once they broke into
a French ballad the theme of which was--

"Mary, I love you,
Will you marry me?"

The team on our wagon is a badly mated one. The off beast trots like a
sheep and has a way of hanging her head as if some one had told her a
story too shocking to contemplate: while Lisette, the nigh mare,
although strong as a steel cable, picks objections to every foot of the
way either with a kick or an idiotic sidelong prance. Now and then
Prosper, who knows the whole truth about Lisette, and who looks more
religious than he really is, advises her as to her forbears and
predicts as to her posterity, but, like Job's wild ass, this
whimsical-minded trailer "scorneth the multitude of the city and
regardeth not the crying of the driver."

"She's a female voter, she is," says an Englishman, who has been back
home on a visit, "and it's a tidy bit of walloping she needs."

The London suffragettes would have been pleased with our opinion of
their countryman and that we were able to express it in the exact
words. After a full and unreserved apology from the frightened
traveller, we, in turn, retracted the indecorous charge that he was a
ridiculous pinhead, and a man of low understanding, whereupon peace
once more reigned in our wagon. It is astonishing what pernicious
consequences may follow from the kicking of a wayward-minded mare on
the trail. Most of the frontier tragedies are attributable to this
very thing.

Anderson's stopping-place which we are passing used to be the only
house between Grouard and Athabasca Landing, and accordingly is a
notable landmark. Anderson is still unmarried. It is forced upon the
notice of a traveller in these North-Western Provinces that every
bachelor has little spruce-trees around his house. The bachelor thinks
we don't suspect his reason, but we know it is because he hopes, some
day, they may come in handy for Christmas-trees.

We stay for a little while at the house of Ernst and Minna, who came
from Europe more than six years ago. It is a sheer joy to know Minna,
who is a little round-bodied woman, firm-fleshed and wholesome as an
autumn apple. She has bee