--er--I did not
wear my bathing suit. The birds twittered. The arched trees made a green
canopy above me. The sunshine sparkled on the placid bosom of the water.
A gentle breeze, warm, sweet-scented, caressed me as I drank in the
beauty of the scene.

"Then I plunged in--the temperature was warmer than tepid--delightful. I
felt like a nymph, a water-sprite, or something, as I swam out to the
middle and found a footing. The bottom was rather oozy, and there were
green patches floating on the surface, otherwise it was ideal.

"Noticing a brown spot on my arm, I touched it. It was squashy and
pulpy. Then it moved! A leech--and it sunk a million feet into me as
soon as I attempted to remove it. I was _black_ with them, if you will
believe me, literally _covered_. Repulsive, disgusting--blood-suckers,
sucking my blood like vacuum-cleaners, Mr. Cone! Imagine my horror."

Mr. Cone tried to.

"Another woman would have screamed or fainted," Mrs. Budlong continued,
"but I come of different stock, and ancestry will tell at such moments.
I am a Daughter of the Revolution and my father fought all through the
Civil War as a sutler. Not a sound passed my lips as I got back to
shore, somehow, and, weak from loss of blood, sank down to consider how
to get rid of the leeches.

"In emergencies I am a resourceful woman. Recalling that I had a
match--only one little match--in my sweater pocket, it occurred to me
that I might build a smudge and smoke them off. I scraped some leaves
together, struck my match, and, just then----"

But just then Mr. Budlong, who had stopped to look after the trunks,
scuffled in the doorway, and in his eagerness to greet him Mr. Cone
forgot completely the narrative Mrs. Budlong was reciting for his
benefit. Nor did he ever hear its termination.

Even as the proprietor stood at his desk wondering if the later train
had brought any more prodigals, a commotion on the veranda was followed
by the appearance of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Appel.

Mr. Appel was using a stick and walking with such difficulty that Mr.
Cone hurried forward and asked with real solicitude:

"My dear friend, whatever is the matter? Has your old enemy Rheumatism
again got his clutches on you?"

"Rheumatism!" Mr. Appel snorted. "You lie on your back with 2,000 pounds
on top of you and see how you like it!"

Mr. Cone was puzzled, and said so.

Mr. Appel explained tersely:

"A bear walked on me--that's all that happened. A silvertip stood