IN THE DUNES 23 



in the sand dunes have been as poetical as the fore- 

 going. Two stand out in my memory that were 

 far from it. On one of these, in a summer of 

 plentiful rains, I fashioned my mold in the lee 

 of a clump of beach grass on the top of a dune 

 and composed myself to sleep. But, alas, mos- 

 quitoes in great multitudes gathered about my 

 devoted head. Oil of citronella, plentifully ap- 

 plied, failed to deter them — I could hear them 

 splashing in it on my face. Their actions re- 

 minded me of Labrador. A move to the breezy 

 side of the grass in a seal-like manner, by squirm- 

 ing and flopping in my sleeping-bag was equally 

 unsuccessful. I then took up my bed and 

 walked to what I considered the most wind- 

 swept spot on the side of the dune. But, as 

 grains of sand driven by the wind come to rest 

 behind any obstruction, so the mosquitoes gath- 

 ered in my lee and proceeded to the slaughter. I 

 tried several equally unsuccessful moves during 

 the night which was also enlivened by several 

 showers. 



On another occasion when the wind was a gen- 

 tle and a warm one from the southwest, I went 



