A SUMMER BOATING TRIP 27 



had wrapped my rubber coat about my blankets and 

 groceries, and bared my back to the storm. In sullen 

 silence I saw the night settling down and the rain 

 increasing; my roof -tree gave way, and every leaf 

 poured its accumulated drops upon me. There were 

 streams and splashes where before there had been 

 little more than a mist. I was getting well soaked and 

 uncomplimentary in my remarks on the weather. 

 A saucy catbird, near by, flirted and squealed very 

 plainly, " There ! there ! What did I tell you ! what did 

 I tell you! Pretty pickle! pretty pickle! pretty pickle 

 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 a fuss we make 

 about the " hulls " upon strawberries ! We are hyper- 

 critical; we may yet be glad to dine off the hulls alone. 



