"Down there!" exclaimed Euphemia. "Why there are thousands of them
here! I never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every
minute."

"I'll tell you what we must do," I exclaimed, jumping up. "We must
make a smudge."

"What's that? do you rub it on yourself?" asked Euphemia,
anxiously.

"No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves
and make a smoldering fire of them."

We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the
leeward of it, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her
head would come off. With tears running from her eyes, she
declared that she would rather go and be eaten alive, than stay in
that smoke.

"Perhaps we were too near it," said I.

"That may be," she answered, "but I have had enough smoke. Why
didn't I think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put
these over our faces, and wear gloves."

She was always full of expedients.

Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat
and talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my