102 IS IT GOING TO EAIN? 



up a good rain. Especially, unless you have that 

 cloud-mother, that dim, filmy, nebulous mass that has 

 its root in the higher regions of the air, and is the 

 source and backing of all storms, your rain will be 

 light indeed. 



I fear my readers' jacket is not thoroughly soaked 

 yet. I must give him a final dash, a "clear-up" 

 shower. 



We were encamping in the primitive woods, by a 

 little trout-lake which the mountain carried high on 

 his hip, like a soldier's canteen. There were wives 

 in the party, curious to know what the lure was that 

 annually drew their husbands to the woods. That 

 magical writing on a trout's back they would fain de- 

 cipher, little heeding the warning that what is writ- 

 ten here is not given to woman to know. 



Our only tent or roof was the sheltering arms of 

 the great birches and maples. What was sauce for 

 the gander should be sauce for the goose too, so the 

 goose insisted. 



A luxurious couch of boughs upon springing poles 

 was prepared, and the night should be not less wel- 

 come than the day, which had indeed been idyllic. 

 (A trout dinner had been served by a little spring 

 brook, upon an improvised table covered with moss 

 and decked with ferns, with strawberries from a near 

 clearing.) 



At twilight, there was an ominous rumble behind 

 the mountains. I was on the lake, and could see 

 what was brewing there in the west. 



