The swamp, and often terminate in mud-holes of very
ominous dimensions. The snow, however, hid from us all the ugly
features of the road, and Mr. D - - steered us through in perfect
safety, and landed us at the door of a little log house which
crowned the steep hill on the other side of the swamp, and which
he dignified with the name of a tavern.
It was now two o'clock. We had been on the road since seven;
and men, women, and children were all ready for the good dinner that
Mr. D - - had promised us at this splendid house of entertainment,
where we were destined to stay for two hours, to refresh ourselves
and rest the horses.
"Well, Mrs. J - -, what have you got for our dinner?" said our
driver, after he had seen to the accommodation of his teams.
"Pritters[1] and pork, sir. Nothing else to be had in the woods.
Thank God, we have enough of that!"
[1] Vulgar Canadian for potatoes.
D - - shrugged up his shoulders, and looked at us. "We've plenty of
that same at home. But hunger's good sauce. Come, be spry, widow,
and see about it, for I am very hungry."
I inquired for a private room for myself and the children, but
there were no private rooms in the house.
