Stanton cooked dinner, Pete brought forward a second pack. After we
had eaten, Richards suggested to Pete that they take the fish net
ahead and set it in the little lake which was still some two and a
half miles farther on the trail. They had just returned when a
terrific thunderstorm broke upon us, and every moment we expected the
tent to be carried away by the gale that accompanied the downpour of
rain. It was then that Richards remembered that he had left his
blankets to dry upon the tepee poles at the last camp. The rain
ceased about five o'clock, and Duncan volunteered to return with
Richards and help him recover his blankets, which they found far from
dry.

Mosquitoes, it seemed to me, were never so numerous or vicious as
after this thunderstorm. We had head nets that were a protection from
them generally, but when we removed the nets to eat, the attacks of
the insects were simply insufferable, so we had our supper in the
tent. After our meal was finished and Pete had washed the dishes, I
read aloud a chapter from the Bible--a Sunday custom that was
maintained throughout the trip--and Stanton sang some hymns. Then we
prevailed upon him to entertain us with other songs. He had an
excellent tenor voice and a repertoire ranging from "The Holy City" to
"My Brother Bob," and these and some of the old Scotch ballads, which
he sang well, were favorites that he was often afterward called upon
to render as we gathered around our evening camp fire, smoking our
pipes and drinking in the tonic fragrance of the great solemn forest
around us after a day of hard portaging. These impromptu concerts,
story telling, and reading aloud from two or three "vest pocket"
classics that I carried, furnished our entertainment when we were not
too tired to be amused.