82 PEPACTON: A SUMMER VOYAGE. 



by, flirted and squealed very plainly, " There ! there I 

 What did I tell you I what did I tell you ! Pretty 

 pickle ! pretty pickle ! pretty piokle to be in ! " But 

 I had been in worse pickles, though if the water had 

 been salt my pickling had been pretty thorough. 

 Seeing the wind was in the northeast, and that the 

 weather had fairly stolen a march on me, I let go my 

 hold of the tree, and paddled rapidly to the opposite 

 shore, which was low and pebbly, drew my boat up 

 on a little peninsula, turned her over upon a spot 

 which I cleared of its coarser stone, propped up one 

 end with the seat, and crept beneath. I would now 

 test the virtues of my craft as a roof, and I found she 

 was without flaw, though she was pretty narrow. 

 The tension of her timber was such that the rain 

 upon her bottom made a low, musical hum. 



Crouched on my blankets and boughs, for I had 

 gathered a good supply of the latter before the rain 

 overtook me, and dry only about my middle, I 

 placidly took life as it came. A great blue heron 

 flew by, and let off something like ironical horse 

 laughter. Before it became dark I proceeded to eat 

 my supper, my berries, but not my trout. What 

 n fuss we make about the "hulls" upon strawber- 

 ries ! We are hypercritical ; we may yet be glad to 

 dine off the hulls alone. Some people see something 

 lo pick and carp at in every good that comes to 

 them ; I was thankful that I had the berries, and re? 

 olutely ignored their little scalloped ruffles, which I 

 found pleased the eye and did not disturb the palata 



