It was awfully hot. We went on till we came to the big marsh the other side of Wayzata. The lake came up farther then, and the marsh was filled with water, and all covered round the edges with logs and tree stumps. The oxen saw the water and made one lunge for it. They made down the side of the hill over stumps and logs and never stopped till they were in the water. Mr. French got out and took the ox chain and tied the tongue on the back of the wagon and hauled us up again. I remarked to Mrs. French, "I guess we will be killed yet!" "Oh," Mr. French said, "This is just a pleasure trip." Mrs. French wouldn't crack a smile, but I thought I'd die laughing. We stopped at the six-mile house Thursday night. We had started at 4 o'clock in the morning and traveled till eight at night and gone about seven miles. We got up at four and started on again. We chugged along till towards noon and we camped and ate our lunch and met my husband. He'd been to Minneapolis, looked after his business and was on his way home. "Why, what's the matter?" he said. "Oh, not much. Jerry pulled his tail off," we said. "Oh," Mr. French said, "it's only a pleasure trip." My husband was for going home, but I said, "Oh no, you won't go back. I'm all wore out now with the baby. This is a pleasure trip and we want you to have all the pleasure there is." We got to St. Anthony at eight thirty, tired--oh, dear! We did some shopping and came back with a big load; made six miles in the afternoon and stopped at the six-mile house for the night. Across Bassett's creek was a narrow, tamarack pole bridge. We might have known there would be trouble but we never thought of it. Old Jerry seen the water and made one lunge for it. One ox went over the edge of the bridge and one went through, and there they hung across the beam. We skedaddled out the backside of the wagon. "Well, Martha, I guess we will be killed yet," I said. But Mrs. French never smiled. She took her pleasures sadly. The men took the pin out of the ox yokes and let the oxen down into the water and they grazed while the men went on a half a mile to borrow an ax and cut tamarack poles to fix the bridge. We stayed all night again at Mr. Clay's and got up Sunday morning and started. When we got to Tepee hill I said, "I'll walk down this hill. I rode up it." The rest of them rode. I walked on through the woods to Mr. Barnes' beyond Long Lake and got there just as supper was ready. They wanted me to eat supper, but I said, "No, they are coming on in a few minutes. I'll just take a cup of tea." I waited--and waited--and waited--for an hour or so; and they didn't come. Finally I ate my supper and they came. "Well, what in the world," I said, "is the matter?" Well old Jerry had got in the creek at the bottom of Tepee hill, the outlet of Long Lake into Minnetonka and they couldn't get him out. Mrs. French was in the wagon and the mosquitoes like to ate her up.