“No, Jovita.”
“Cream City, my dear—the city of cream—you can dip your bread in it. Ah! why does this wretched bronchitis hinder us from going there?”
Wisconsin had a number of other towns they would have had time to visit if they could have started on the 9th. Madison, built on its isthmus as on a bridge between Lake Mendota and Lake Monona, which flow into each other; then other towns with strange names: Fond-du-lac on the Fox River, on soil pierced with artesian wells—a regular colander; and a beautiful place they call Eau Claire, with a fine torrent that justifies the name; and Lake Winnebago; and Green Bay; and the anchorage of the Twelve Apostles off Ashland Bay; and the Devil’s Lake, one of the natural beauties of this marvellous Wisconsin.
And in a voice of enthusiasm Jovita Fole
