h Eddie was sorry for me--as I knew he would
be--and brought me a cup of tea and some toast and put a nice piece of
chocolate into my mouth and sang me a song. It had been a pretty
strenuous day, and I had been bruised and cold and wet and scratched and
humiliated. But the tea and toast put me in a forgiving spirit, and the
chocolate was good, and Eddie can sing. I was dry, too, and reasonably
warm. And the rain hissing into the campfire at the door had a soothing
sound.

Chapter Thirteen

_Now take the advice that I do not need--_
_That I do not heed, alway:_
_For there's many a fool can make a rule_
_Which only the wise obey._

Chapter Thirteen

As usual, the clouds had emptied themselves by morning. The sky was
still dull and threatening, and from the tent door the water of the lake
was gray. But the mist had gone, and the islands came out green and
beautiful. The conditions made it possible to get some clothing decently
smoked and scorched, which is the nearest approach to dryness one is
ever likely to achieve in the woods in a rainy season.

I may say here that the time will come--and all too soon, in a period of
rain--when you will reach your last dry suit of underwear--and get it
wet. Then have a care. Be content to stay in a safe, dry spot, if you
can find one--you will have to go to bed, of course, to do it until
something is dry--that is, pretty dry. To change from one wet suit to
another only a little less so is conducive neither to comfort nor to a
peaceful old age. Above all, do not put on your night garment, or
garments, for underwear, for they will get wet, too; then your condition
will be desperate.

I submit the above as good advice. I know it is good advice for I did
not follow it. I have never followed good advice--I have only given it.
At the end of several nights of rain and moist days, I had nothing
really dry but my nightshirt and one slipper and I think Eddie's
condition was not so far removed. What we did was to pick out the least
damp of our things and smoke and scorch them on a pole over the campfire
until they had a sort of a half-done look, like bread toasted over a gas
jet; then suddenly we would seize them and put them on hot and go around
steaming, and smelling of leaf smoke and burnt dry goods--these odors
blended with the fragrance of camphor, tar and pennyroyal, with which we
were presently saturated in every pore. For though it was said to be too
l