Our little, shock-headed, sunburnt, thick-lipped Canadian (who happened most miraculously to be the husband of my pretty servant, Mrs. Pillon) shouted vociferously as the animals lagged in their pace, or jolted against a stump, “Marchez, don-g,” “regardez,” “prenez garde,” to our infinite diversion.  I was in high spirits, foreseeing no hardships or dangers, but rather imagining myself embarked on a pleasure excursion across the prairies.  It had not even suggested itself to me that a straw bonnet and kid gloves were no suitable equipment for such an expedition.  Never having travelled at so inclement a season, I was heedlessly ignorant of the mode of preparing against it, and had resisted or laughed at my husband’s suggestions to provide myself with blanket socks, and a woollen capuchon for my head and shoulders.  And now, although the wind occasionally lifted my head-gear with a rude puff, and my hands ere long became swollen and stiffened with the cold, I persuaded myself that these were trifling evils, to which I should soon get accustomed.  I was too well pleased with the novelty of my outfit, with my hunting-knife in a gay scabbard hanging from my neck, and my tin cup at my saddle-bow, to regard minor inconveniences.

On reaching Duck Creek, we took leave of our young friends, who remained on the bank long enough to witness our passage across—­ourselves in the canoe, and the poor horses swimming the stream, now filled with cakes of floating ice.

Beyond the rising ground which formed the opposite bank of the stream, extended a marsh of perhaps three hundred yards across.  To this the men carried the canoe which was to bear us over.  The water was not deep, so our attendants merely took off the pack from Brunet and my side-saddle from Le Gris, for fear of accidents, and then mounted their own steeds, leading the two extra ones.  My husband placed the furniture of the pack-horse and my saddle in the centre of the canoe, which he was to paddle across.

“Now, wifie,” said he, “jump in, and seat yourself flat in the bottom of the canoe.”

“Oh, no,” said I; “I will sit on the little trunk in the centre; I shall be so much more comfortable, and I can balance the canoe exactly.”

“As you please; but I think you will find it is not the best way.”

A vigorous push sent us a few feet from the bank.  At that instant two favorite greyhounds whom we had brought with us, and who had stood whining upon the bank, reluctant to take to the water as they were ordered, gave a sudden bound, and alighted full upon me.  The canoe balanced a moment—­then yielded—­and, quick as thought, dogs, furniture, and lady were in the deepest of the water.

My husband, who was just preparing to spring into the canoe when the dogs thus unceremoniously took precedence of him, was at my side in a moment, and, seizing me by the collar of my cloak, begged me not to be frightened.  I was not, in the least, and only laughed as he raised and placed me again upon the bank.