NESTLINGS OF FOREST AND MARSH 
other boat pass within a few yards of us. No 
time was wasted in hesitation ; we pushed 
out and followed them, joining heartily in 
the laugh at our own expense. It was, to 
be sure, a trifle humiliating to find that we 
really had not been lost at all, for we were 
in the main channel. When once out of the 
rushes and in the open water of the lake, we 
floated along the edge of the marsh until the 
scarlet and gold of the sunset changed to 
purple shadows which, in turn, became silvery 
mists beneath the moon. Weird sounds, 
made more ghostly by the hour and place, 
came ever from the waving wild rice, — 
suppressed grunts, sighs, and moans. One 
thought of the lost souls of Dante’s In- 
ferno, or of Poe’s hideous imagery, — 
“ They are neither man nor woman. 
They are neither brute nor human. 
They are ghouls.” 
The unknown became the supernatural, too 
mysterious for comfort, and in spite of the 
beauty of the night a strange sense of fear 
made one long to get away. 
140 
