A SUMMER VOYAGE 



bended nothing but a moderate sundown drizzle, 

 such as we often get from the tail end of a shower, 

 and drew up in the eddy of a big rock under an 

 overhanging tree till it should have passed. But 

 it' did not pass ; it thickened and deepened, and 

 reached a steady pour by the time I had calculated 

 the sun would be gilding the mountain-tops. I 

 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, 

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