"I would as
soon eat a child."
Among the many odd things cooking at that fire there was something
that had the appearance of a bull-frog.
"What can that be?" she said, directing my eyes to the strange
monster. "Surely they don't eat bull-frogs!"
This sally was received by a grunt of approbation from Snow-storm;
and, though Indians seldom forget their dignity so far as to laugh,
he for once laid aside his stoical gravity, and, twirling the thing
round with a stick, burst into a hearty peal.
"Muckakee! Indian eat muckakee? - Ha! ha! Indian no eat muckakee!
Frenchmans eat his hind legs; they say the speckled beast much good.
This no muckakee! - the liver of deer, dried - very nice - Indian eat
him."
"I wish him much joy of the delicate morsel," said the saucy girl,
who was intent upon quizzing and examining everything in the camp.
We had remained the best part of an hour, when Mrs. Muskrat laid
hold of my hand, and leading me through the bush to the shore,
pointed up significantly to a cloud, as dark as night, that hung
loweringly over the bush.
"Thunder in that cloud - get over the lake - quick, quick, before it
breaks." Then motioning for us to jump into the canoe, she threw in
the paddles, and pushed us from shore.
We saw the necessity of haste, and both plied the paddle with
diligence to gain the opposite bank, or at least the shelter of the
island, before the cloud poured down its fury upon us. We were just
in the middle of the current when the first peal of thunder broke
with startling nearness over our heads. The storm frowned darkly
upon the woods; the rain came down in torrents; and there were we
exposed to its utmost fury in the middle of a current too strong
for us to stem.
"What shall we do? We shall be drowned!" said my young friend,
turning her pale, tearful face towards me.
"Let the canoe float down the current till we get close to the
island; then run her into the land. I saved myself once before
by this plan."
We did so, and were safe; but there we had to remain, wet to our
skins, until the wind and the rain abated sufficiently for us to
manage our little craft. "How do you like being upon the lake in a
storm like this?" I whispered to my shivering, dripping companion.
"Very well in romance, but terribly dull in reality. We cannot,
however, call it a dry joke," continued she, wringing the rain from
her dress. "I wish we were suspended over Old Snow-storm's fire with
the bull-frog, for I hate a shower-bath with my clothes on."
I took warning by this adventure, never to cross the lake again
without a stronger arm than mine in the canoe to steer me safely
through the current.
