usoe laid the bird at Dick's feet;
"capital for supper."

"Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog. Come here, I vill clap you."

But Crusoe refused to be caressed. Meanwhile, Joe and Dick formed a
sort of beehive-looking hut by bending down the stems of a tall bush
and thrusting their points into the ground. Over this they threw the
largest buffalo robe, and placed another on the ground below it, on
which they laid their packs of goods. These they further secured
against wet by placing several robes over them and a skin of
parchment. Then they sat down on this pile to rest, and consider what
should be done next.

"'Tis a bad look-out," said Joe, shaking his head.

"I fear it is," replied Dick in a melancholy tone.

Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking up at the sky,
which was now of a uniform watery gray, while black clouds drove
athwart it. The rain was pouring in torrents, and the wind began to
sweep it in broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight
covering, so that in a short time they were wet to the skin. The
horses stood meekly beside them, with their tails and heads equally
pendulous; and Crusoe sat before his master, looking at him with an
expression that seemed to say, "Couldn't you put a stop to this if you
were to try?"

"This'll never do. I'll try to git up a fire," said Dick, jumping up
in desperation.

"Ye may save yerself the trouble," remarked Joe dryly--at least as
dryly as was possible in the circumstances.

However, Dick did try, but he failed signally. Everything was soaked
and saturated. There were no large trees; most of the bushes were
green, and the dead ones were soaked. The coverings were slobbery, the
skins they sat on were slobbery, the earth itself was slobbery; so
Dick threw his blanket (which was also slobbery) round his shoulders,
and sat down beside his companions to grin and bear it. As for Joe and
Henri, they were old hands and accustomed to such circumstances. From
the first they had resigned themselves to their fate, and wrapping
their wet blankets round them sat down, side by side, wisely to endure
the evils that they could not cure.

There is an old rhyme, by whom composed we know not, and it matters
little, which runs thus,--

"For every evil under the sun
There is a remedy--or there's none.
If there is--try and find it;
If there isn't--never mind it!"

There is deep wisdom here in small compass. The principle involved
deserves to be he