124 SPECKLED TROUT. 



That night the midges, those motes that sting, 

 held high carnival. We learned afterward, in the 

 settlement below and from the bark-peelers, that it 

 was the worst night ever experienced in that valley. 

 We had done no fishing during the day, but had 

 anticipated some fine sport about sundown. Accord- 

 ingly Aaron and I started off between six and seven 

 o'clock, one going up stream and the other down. 

 The scene was charming. The sun shot up great 

 spokes of light from behind the woods, and beauty, 

 like a presence, pervaded the atmosphere. But tor- 

 ment, multiplied as the sands of the sea-shore, lurked 

 in every tangle and thicket. In a thoughtless mo- 

 ment I removed my shoes and socks, and waded in 

 the water to secure a fine trout that had accident- 

 ally slipped from my string and was helplessly float- 

 ing with the current. This caused some delay and 

 gave the gnats time to accumulate. Before I had 

 got one foot half dressed I was enveloped in a black 

 mist that settled upon my hands and neck and face, 

 filling my ears with infinitesimal pipirgs and cover- 

 mg my flesh with infinitesimal bi tings. I thought I 

 should have to flee to the friendly fumes of the old 

 stable, with "one stocking off and one stocking on"; 

 but I got my shoe on at last, though not without 

 many amusing interruptions and digressions. 



In a few moments after this adventure I was in 

 rapid retreat toward camp. Just as I reached the 

 path leading from the shanty to the creek, my com 

 panion in the same ignoble flight reached it also 



