This seemed
strange to me in the early part of September, but it is very common
in Canada. Nine passengers were closely packed into our narrow
vehicle, but the sides being of canvas, and the open space allowed
for windows unglazed, I shivered with cold, which amounted to a
state of suffering, when the day broke, and we approached the
little village of Matilda. It was unanimously voted by all hands
that we should stop and breakfast at a small inn by the road-side,
and warm ourselves before proceeding to Prescott.
The people in the tavern were not stirring, and it was some time
before an old white-headed man unclosed the door, and showed us
into a room, redolent with fumes of tobacco, and darkened by paper
blinds. I asked him if he would allow me to take my infant into a
room with a fire.
"I guess it was a pretty considerable cold night for the like of
her," said he. "Come, I'll show you to the kitchen; there's always
a fire there." I cheerfully followed, accompanied by our servant.
Our entrance was unexpected, and by no means agreeable to the
persons we found there. A half-clothed, red-haired Irish servant
was upon her knees, kindling up the fire; and a long, thin woman,
with a sharp face, and an eye like a black snake, was just emerging
from a bed in the corner.
