whole course of the two following days, the climax of impatience and
discouragement was not reached until we arrived in sight of the white
walls of Fort Winnebago, looking down from a rising ground upon the vast
expanse of low land through which the river winds.

The Indians have a tradition that a vast serpent once lived in the
waters of the Mississippi, and that, taking a freak to visit the Great
Lakes, he left his trail through the prairies, which, collecting the
waters from the meadows and the rains of heaven as they fell, at length
became the Fox River.

The little lakes along its course were probably the spots where he
flourished about in his uneasy slumbers at night. He must have played
all the antics of a kitten in the neighborhood of the Portage. When the
fort was first pointed out to me, I exclaimed, with delight, "Oh, we
shall be there in half an hour!"

"Not quite so soon," said my husband, smiling. "Wait and see." We sat
and watched. We seemed approaching the very spot where we were to
disembark. We could distinguish the officers and a lady on the bank
waiting to receive us. Now we were turning our backs on them, and
shooting out into the prairie again. Anon we approached another bank, on
which was a range of comfortable-looking log houses. "That's the
Agency," said my husband; "the largest house belongs to Paquette, the
interpreter, and the others are the dwellings of our Frenchmen. The
little building, just at the foot of the hill, is the blacksmith's shop,
kept there by the Government, that the Indians may have their guns and
traps mended free of expense."

"But are we going to stop there?"