definite, it being the generic term for any large stream.
But he gathered that the village we had passed higher up, on the
opposite side of the stream, was Wau-ban-see's, and then he knew that we
were on the Fox River, and probably about fifty miles from Chicago.

The squaw, in answer to his inquiries, assured him that Chicago was
"close by."

"That means," said he, "that it is not so far off as Canada. We must not
be too sanguine."

The men set about unpacking the horses, and I in the mean time was
paddled across the river. The old woman immediately returned, leaving
the younger one with me for company. I seated myself on the fallen trunk
of a tree, in the midst of the snow, and looked across the dark waters.
I am not ashamed to confess my weakness--for the first time on my
journey I shed tears. It was neither hunger, nor fear, nor cold, which
extorted them from me. It was the utter desolation of spirit, the
sickness of heart which "hope deferred" ever occasions, and which of all
evils is the hardest to bear.

The poor little squaw looked into my face with a wondering and
sympathizing expression. Probably she was speculating in her own mind
what a person who rode so fine a horse, and wore so comfortable a
broadcloth dress, could have to cry about. I pointed to a seat beside me
on the log, but she preferred standing and gazing at me, with the same
pitying expression. Presently she was joined by a young companion, and,
after a short chattering, of which I was evidently the subject, they
both trotted off into the woods, and left me to my own solitary
reflections.

"What would my friends at the East think," said I to myself, "if they
could see me now? What would poor old Mrs. Welsh say? She who warned me
that _if I came away so far to the West, I should break my heart?_
Would she not rejoice to find how likely her prediction was to be
fulfilled?"

These thoughts roused me. I dried up my tears, and by the time my
husband with his party and all his horses and luggage were across, I had
recovered my cheerfulness, and was ready for fresh adventures.

CHAPTER XVI.

RELIEF.

We followed the old squaw to her lodge, which was at no great distance
in the woods. I had never before been in an Indian lodge, although I had
occasionally peeped into one of the many always clustered round the
house of the Interpreter at the Portage.

This one was very nicely arranged. Four sticks of wood placed to form a
square in th