The rising wind shakes the tent-flaps. Are the pegs well driven
down and the cords firmly fastened? You fall asleep again and wake
later, to hear the rain drumming still more loudly on the tight
cloth, and the big breeze snoring through the forest, and the waves
plunging along the beach. A stormy day? Well, you must cut plenty
of wood and keep the camp-fire glowing, for it will be hard to start
it up again, if you let it get too low. There is little use in
fishing or hunting in such a storm. But there is plenty to do in
the camp: guns to be cleaned, tackle to be put in order, clothes to
be mended, a good story of adventure to be read, a belated letter to
be written to some poor wretch in a summer hotel, a game of hearts
or cribbage to be played, or a hunting-trip to be planned for the
return of fair weather. The tent is perfectly dry. A little trench
dug around it carries off the surplus water, and luckily it is
pitched with the side to the lake, so that you get the pleasant heat
of the fire without the unendurable smoke. Cooking in the rain has
its disadvantages. But how good the supper tastes when it is served
up on a tin plate, with an empty box for a table and a roll of
blankets at the foot of the bed for a seat!

A day, two days, three days, the storm may continue, according to
your luck. I have been out in the woods for a fortnight without a
drop of rain or a sign of dust. Again, I have tented on the shore
of a big lake for a week, waiting for an obstinate tempest to pass
by.

Look now, just at nightfall: is there not a little lifting and
breaking of the clouds in the west, a little shifting of the wind
toward a better quarter? You go to bed with cheerful hopes. A