It was almost dark when we reached Lawton’s.  The Aux Plaines[20] was frozen, and the house was on the other side.  By loud shouting, we brought out a man from the building, and he succeeded in cutting the ice, and bringing a canoe over to us; but not until it had become difficult to distinguish objects in the darkness.

A very comfortable house was Lawton’s, after we did reach it—­carpeted, and with a warm stove—­in fact, quite in civilized style, Mr. Weeks, the man who brought us across, was the major-domo, during the temporary absence of Mr. Lawton.

Mrs. Lawton was a young woman, and not ill-looking.  She complained bitterly of the loneliness of her condition, and having been “brought out there into the woods; which was a thing she had not expected, when she came from the East.”  We did not ask her with what expectations she had come to a wild, unsettled country; but we tried to comfort her with the assurance that things would grow better in a few years.  She said, “She did not mean to wait for that.  She should go back to her family in the East, if Mr. Lawton did not invite some of her young friends to come and stay with her, and make it agreeable.”

We could hardly realize, on rising the following morning, that only twelve miles of prairie intervened between us and Chicago le Desire, as I could not but name it.

We could look across the extended plain, and on its farthest verge were visible two tall trees, which my husband pointed out to me as the planting of his own hand, when a boy.  Already they had become so lofty as to serve as landmarks, and they were constantly in view as we travelled the beaten road.  I was continually repeating to myself, “There live the friends I am so longing to see!  There will terminate all our trials and hardships!”

A Mr. Wentworth joined us on the road, and of him we inquired after the welfare of the family, from whom we had, for a long time, received no intelligence.  When we reached Chicago, he took us to a little tavern at the forks of the river.  This portion of the place was then called Wolf Point, from its having been the residence of an Indian named “Moaway,” or “the Wolf.”

“Dear me,” said the old landlady, at the little tavern, “what dreadful cold weather you must have had to travel in!  Why, two days ago the river was all open here, and now it’s frozen hard enough for folks to cross a-horseback!”

Notwithstanding this assurance, my husband did not like to venture, so he determined to leave his horses and proceed on foot to the residence of his mother and sister, a distance of about half a mile.

We set out on our walk, which was first across the ice, then down the northern bank of the river.  As we approached the house we were espied by Genevieve, a half-breed servant of the family.  She did not wait to salute us, but flew into the house, crying,—­

“Oh!  Madame Kinzie, who do you think has come?  Monsieur John and Madame John, all the way from Fort Winnebago on foot!”