CHAPTER XIV 



A MIX-UP WITH THE LAUGHERS 



IT was Sunday, the 24th of September, cold 

 and dull, with a raw wind hurrying south- 

 ward across the lake, and bearing the 

 message that old Boreas had thrust himself an- 

 other stride forward out of the Northland. In- 

 deed his frosty, gray beard seemed just back of 

 the northern horizon; and when in mid-after- 

 noon, I slipped out of the tent and ran down 

 through the wild sun-flowers to the shore, just 

 for another look, there was in the air and land- 

 scape that feeling of the fall, that comes to us 

 each season, when first we realize that we are in 

 the presence of dead summer, chill and wan, and 

 can see her sister season, gentle autumn, fast 

 following in decline. 



It was good to lie upon a patch of clean, 

 warm sand, in the shelter of the yellow-tasseled 

 reeds, and feel the mood of Nature, on such a 



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