120 SPECKLED TROUT. 



especially when the frying-pans were brought into 

 requisition, and the coffee, in charge of Aaron, who 

 was an artist in this line, mingled its aroma with the 

 wild-wood air. At dusk a balsam was felled, and 

 the tips of the branches used to make a bed, which 

 was more fragrant than soft ; hemlock is better, be- 

 cause its needles are finer and its branches more 

 elastic. 



There was a spirt or two of rain during the night, 

 but not enough to find out the leaks in our roof. It 

 took the shower or series of showers of the next day 

 to do that. They commenced about two o'clock in 

 the afternoon. The forenoon had been fine, and we 

 had brought into camp nearly three hundred trout ; 

 but before they were half dressed or the first panfuls 

 fried, the rain set in. First came short, sharp dashes, 

 then a gleam of treacherous sunshine, followed by 

 more and heavier dashes. The wind was in the 

 southwest, and to rain seemed the easiest thing in 

 the world. From fitful dashes to a steady pour the 

 transition was natural. We stood huddled together, 

 stark and grim, under our .cover, like hens under a 

 cart. The fire fought bravely for a time, and retal- 

 iated with sparks and spiteful tongues of flame ; but 

 gradually its spirit was broken, only a heavy body of 

 coal and half -consumed logs in the centre holding out 

 against all odds. The simmering fish were soon 

 floating about in a yellow liquid that did not look in 

 the least appetizing. Point after point gave way in 

 our cover, till standing between the drops was no 



