Thanking her for her inquiries, I assured her that I was quite warm.

"Ah, well," she said, patting me on the arm, "take care of yourself. Good
people are scarce."

Poor old creature! her good nature made me glad she was my countrywoman.
A kind thought expressed in the familiar accents of "Ould Oireland" is
welcome to the wayfarer in strange lands, even though it may often be
"only blarney" after all.

Reaching a bend in the little river Seine at noon, we halted for dinner,
and lighted a fire. But not daring to waste much time in unpacking, we
took what we could eat in our fingers, and fed the children. Before we
had finished, we were joined by a party of Mennonites, in a comfortable
covered waggon drawn by two powerful horses. The family consisted of an
elderly man; his wife, a pretty, quaint-looking little woman; a daughter,
apparently sixteen; a boy of twelve; and two little girls of about six,
looking like twins. They were well dressed, in the quaint costume of
their country. The man, who alone could speak English, told us they were
going to Winnipeg to hear the war news, and gave a look of utter
astonishment at our ignorance of the latest telegrams. It made me feel
quite ashamed of not having taken more interest in the progress of
current events, to meet a party of emigrants driving miles through these
solitudes to hear what I had passed heedlessly by when close under my
hand. The Mennonite elder was very polite; but, judging from the shrugs
indulged in by the family after a remark uttered in their own language,
they did not think highly of our intelligence.

Before we were packed into the waggon again the rain came down in