A CROOKED BHER AND DIZZY SUN. 137 



at any rate, seems to be greatly confused, seeking now this 

 side, and then that, of the l)road valley through which it 

 winds, doubling back upon itself at almost every turn as if 

 to see if the rest of the water was coming along all right. 

 If there is one thing it fully imderstands, it is the principle 

 of the loop, in all its possible variety. It makes more dis- 

 tance in a shorter direct advance than any other stream I 

 know of. Of course, it takes a good deal of time for a 

 river to do any business in this way; and it was unani 

 mously voted that Beaver River was either the progenitor 

 of Wardwell, or that Wardwell was at least the god-father 

 of the river. We never could quite settle that little ques- 

 tion — we didn't "git time." 



We slowly and surely wound our way up the river, 

 crooked as it is, regardless of the tickle sun which shone 

 now in our faces, next on our backs, and, again, impartially 

 burning one ear and then the other — the worst intoxicated 

 and most reckless sun that ever shone; or, was it dizzy 

 from trying to Avatch the turns of Beaver River? 



At five o'clock we were hungry again, and landed on a 

 point of hard land, for supper. So were and did thebl. ck 

 flies. We supposed when we left home that we were nicely 

 and in a soldierly manner stealing a march on this enemy, 

 and overwhelming him with the almanac. He was not 

 due so early according to the entomological time-table, but 

 he came, nevertheless— some millions of him. We disputed 

 our coffee and hard-tack with him at " Black Fly Point " — 

 a name born of our anguish — and then hastened on, eager 

 to find a rest for the weary where the wicked fly would 



