The canoe balanced a moment--then yielded--and, quick as thought, dogs, furniture, and lady were in the deepest of the water.
My husband, who was just preparing to spring into the canoe when the dogs thus unceremoniously took precedence of him, was at my side in a moment, and, seizing me by the collar of my cloak, begged me not to be frightened.

I was not, in the least, and only laughed as he raised and placed me again upon the bank.
The unfortunate saddle and little trunk were then rescued, but not until they had received a pretty thorough wetting.

Our merriment was still further increased by the sight of the maladroit Pillon, who was attempting to ride my spirited Jerry across the marsh.

He was clinging to the neck of the animal, with a countenance distorted with terror, as he shouted forth all manner of French objurgations.

Jerry pranced and curveted, and finally shot forward his rider, or rather his _burden_, headforemost, a distance of several feet into the water.
A general outcry of mirth saluted the unfortunate Frenchman, which was redoubled as he raised himself puffing and snorting from his watery bed and waddled back to his starting-place, the horse, meanwhile, very sensibly making his way to join his companions, who had already reached the farther bank.
"Well, wifie," said Mr.Kinzie, "I cannot trust you in the canoe again.
There is no way but to carry you across the marsh like a pappoose.