had changed their greens for \'arious shades of yellow 

 and brown, and spreading their dainty texture along the 

 banks seemed anxious to show what nature could do in 

 the way of emljroidery. 



Everything looked radiant and happy — save our 

 three guides who were taciturn and troubled. The reason 

 was plain. It was half- past four in the afternoon when 

 we reached the "half-way house." We had stated that 

 we desired particularly to be at Chesuncook Lake (twenty 

 miles down the river) that night, and there would have 

 been no trouble in doing the journey in daylight if the 

 steamer Comet had only been more prompt in starting 

 from Greenville. Now, below us, six miles down, is a 

 great stretch of rapids called the "Rocky Rips," a mile 

 and a half long. Below these rapids come the Pine 

 Stream Falls, half a mile long. 



Our three canoes were deeply loaded. Should we 

 or should we not risk the run? It was finally decided to 

 risk it, and away we went, paddling for all we were 

 worth, l)ut it was dark when we reached the head of the 

 "Rips," and we were "in for it." 



'Tis a beautiful sight in daylight to see the canoes 

 on these rapids, rushing one after the other from sliore to 

 shore, dodging this rock, sliding over that shelf, or doub- 

 ling around some intruding ledge, all the while striving 

 to keep in the channel, which in some places is not more 

 than four or five feet wide. At night, however, the sight 

 is not quite so captivating, especially if the night be a 

 dark one and you happen to make up a part of the 

 canoe's cargo. 



