more than a mist. I was getting well soaked and uncomplimentary in
my remarks on the weather. A saucy catbird, near by, flirted and
squealed very plainly, "There! there! What did I tell you! what
did I tell you! Pretty pickle! pretty pickle! pretty pickle to be
in!" But I had been in worse pickles, though if the water had been
salt, my pickling had been pretty thorough. Seeing the wind was in
the northeast, and that the weather had fairly stolen a march on
me, I let go my hold of the tree, and paddled rapidly to the
opposite shore, which was low and pebbly, drew my boat up on a
little peninsula, turned her over upon a spot which I cleared of
its coarser stone, propped up one end with the seat, and crept
beneath. I would now test the virtues of my craft as a roof, and I
found she was without flaw, though she was pretty narrow. The
tension of her timber was such that the rain upon her bottom made a
low, musical hum.

Crouched on my blankets and boughs,--for I had gathered a good
supply of the latter before the rain overtook me,--and dry only
about my middle, I placidly took life as it came. A great blue
heron flew by, and let off something like ironical horse laughter.
Before it became dark I proceeded to eat my supper,--my berries,
but not my trout. What a fuss we make about the "hulls" upon
strawberries! We are hypercritical; we may yet be glad to dine off
the hulls alone. Some people see something to pick and carp at
in every good that comes to them; I was thankful that I had the
berries, and resolutely ignored their little scalloped ruffles,
which I found pleased the eye and did not disturb the palate.

When bedtime arrived, I found undressing a little awkward, my berth
was so low; there was plenty of room in the aisle, and the other