ong the Wyandottes and other
nations to learn their customs and manners. Now, if I go, as I shall be
obliged to do, I shall be absent two or three years,--perhaps four. What
then? Why, the people will say, Shaw-nee-aw-kee has married Four-Legs'
daughter, and then has hated her and run away from her, and so everybody
will laugh at her, and she will be ashamed. It will be better to take
some good, valuable presents, blankets, guns, etc., and to marry her to
one of her own people, who will always stay by her and take care of
her."

The old man was shrewd enough to see that it was wisest to make the best
bargain he could. I have no doubt it cost a round sum to settle the
matter to the satisfaction of the injured damsel, though I have never
been able to ascertain how much. This I know, that the young gentleman
took care not to make his next bargain while in a fit of the ague. The
lady up on the Mississippi is called, in derision, by his name to this
day.

About midway of the lake we passed Garlic Island--a lovely spot,
deserving of a more attractive name. It belonged, together with the
village on the opposite shore, to "Wild Cat," a fat, jolly, good-natured
fellow, by no means the formidable animal his name would imply.

He and his band were absent, like their neighbors of Four-Legs'
village, so there was nothing to vary the monotony of our sail. It was
too wet to sing, and the men, although wrapped in their overcoats,
looked like drowned chickens. They were obliged to ply their oars with
unusual vigor to keep themselves warm and comfortable, and thus probably
felt less than we, the dulness and listlessness of the cold, rainy,
October day.

Towards evening the sun shone forth. We had passed into the Fox River,
and were just entering that beautiful little expanse known as Butte des
Morts Lake, at the farther extremity of which we were to encamp for the
night.

The water along its shores was green with the fields of wild rice, the
gathering of which, just at this season, is an important occupation of
the Indian women. They push their canoes into the thick masses of the
rice, bend it forward over the side with their paddles, and then beat
the ripe husks off the stalks into a cloth spread in the canoe. After
this, it is rubbed to separate the grain from the husk, and fanned in
the open air. It is then put in their cordage bags and packed away for
winter use. The grain is longer and more slender than the Carolina
rice--it