delegation, and I was interested in observing how perfectly the number that might be accommodated in any home was in inverse ratio to the size and furnishings of the house.  High heeled shoes and hobble skirts, two-story starched collars and tile hats are fashion signs of civilization, but I cannot see why a ring in the nose and a tattooed arm might not have answered just as well.  I am getting harder to convince that a broad foot, shaped on the lines laid down by the Creator, is less beautiful or desirable than the one-toe pointed shoe, decreed just now by our particular brand of culture, and today I would as lief defend the cult of the simple red man as the savagery that disgraces the lands across the water.

Whatever the merits of the matter, for one month of the year we and our tent and automobile abandon ourselves to barbarism, and live as we please.  This year we chose to spend our month on the Yellowstone Trail, the road that leads from the Twin Cities to the Yellowstone National Park, and which is different from other roads leading in the same direction mainly by its yellow mark, faithfully directing the traveler on his way and preventing the loss of time in getting directions at doubtful cross roads.  Our party consisted of a young botanist, and his wife, my wife, myself and our small boy Alan.  Our equipment consisted of a tent, 7x7 ft., weighing, stakes, poles, partition and all, 16-1/2 lbs.; a trunk on the running board made to hold bedding and grub box, and an oil cloth to use as a tent floor.  Like the Indians we go light, and live the simple life while on the trail.  We get off at six o’clock in the morning, eating our breakfast on the move as we get hungry; lunch at noon by the roadside, and camp early, seeking the most interesting spot, from the top of a butte to a pleasant river valley—­and cooking the one square meal of the day by such a brushwood fire as we are able to gather.

[Illustration:  “Us” and some others at a mountain cabin.]

For the first few days we try to provide some straw to temper the hard earth, but as the days go by, and we get used to roughing it, we sleep soundly with nothing but a blanket and oil cloth between us and mother earth.  We pin back the tent door, and with the night wind fanning our faces, close our eyes to the stars and flickering campfire.  Some who have never camped are afraid of bugs, snakes and wild animals.  We have spent our vacation month this way for twenty-five years, have camped in most of the counties of Minnesota, and in Iowa, the Dakotas and Montana, and have never had but one unpleasant experience of the kind.  That was one night when we pitched our tent after dark on the bottoms below Fort Snelling, and did not know till we had laid ourselves down that a colony of ants had pre-empted the spot before us.  We did not get much sleep, but we had the comfort of feeling that they were nice, clean, self-respecting, self-defending ants.  Would that our experience in hotels had been equally fortunate!