But it was no use. We had guilt written on our features, and we never had been taught to lie convincingly. In fact it was wasted effort from the start. The other canoe had been near enough when we entered the trap to see us go in, and even then had located the true opening, which was no great distance away. They jeered us to silence and they rode us down. They carefully drew our attention to the old log dam in proof that this was the real outlet; they pointed to the rapid outpouring current for it was a swift boiling stream here--and asked us if we could tell which way it was flowing. For a time our disgrace was both active and complete. Then came a diversion. Real rain--the usual night downpour--set in, and there was a scramble to get the tents up and our goods under cover. Yet the abuse had told on me. One of my eyes--the last to yield to the whisky treatment, began to throb a good deal--and I dragged off my wet clothes, got on a dry garment (the only thing I had left by this time that was dry) and worked my way laboriously, section by section, into my sleeping bag, after which 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.