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 is of a greenish-olive color, and, although it forms a pleasant
article of food, it is far from being particularly nutritive. The
Indians are fond of it in the form of soup, with the addition of birds
or venison.




CHAPTER VI.

BREAKFAST AT BETTY MORE'S.