Mrs. Stokes Had
Seen Queer Shadows On Her Canvas, And Coming To Me, Said, "Will Says
Those Things Are Squirrels!" That Was Too Much, And I Replied With
Indignation, "They Are Not Squirrels At All; They Are Too Small And
Their Tails Are Not Bushy."
Well, there was a time!
We refused absolutely, positively, to go back
to our tents until we knew all about those darting shadows. We saw
that those two disagreeable men had an understanding with each other
and were much inclined to laugh. It was cold and our wrappers not very
warm, but Mrs. Stokes and I finally sat down upon some camp stools to
await events. Then Faye, who can never resist an opportunity to tease,
said to me, "You had better take care, mice might run up that stool!"
So the cat was out! I have never been afraid of mice, and have always
considered it very silly in women to make such a fuss over them. But
those field mice were different; they seemed inclined to take the very
hair from your head. Of course we could not sit up all night, and
after a time had to return to our tents. I wrapped my head up
securely, so my hair could not be carried off without my knowing
something about it. Ever so many times during the night I heard
talking and smothered laughter, and concluded that the soldiers also
were having small visitors with four swift little legs.
We had more delicious trout for our breakfast; that time fried with
tiny strips of breakfast bacon.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 318 of 410
Words from 85314 to 85577
of 110651
