ike. I think I had
some notion that our beds would be down in the mud as often as not, and
sticky and disagreeable--something to be endured for the sake of the
day's sport. Things were not as I expected, of course. Things never are.
Our beds were not in the mud--not often--and there were days--chill,
wet, disheartening days--when I looked forward to them and to the
campfire blaze at the tent door with that comfort which a child finds in
the prospect of its mother's arm.

On the whole, I am sure our camps were more commodious than I had
expected them to be; and they were pretentious affairs, considering that
we were likely to occupy them no more than one night. We had three
tents--Eddie's, already described; a tent for the guides, of about the
same proportions, and a top or roof tent, under which we dined when it
rained. Then there was a little porch arrangement which we sometimes put
out over the front, but we found it had the bad habit of inviting the
smoke to investigate and permeate our quarters, so we dedicated the
little porch fly to other uses. A waterproof ground cloth was spread
between our stretcher beds, and upon the latter, as mentioned before,
were our sleeping-bags; also our various bundles, cozily and
conveniently bestowed. It was an inviting interior, on the whole
something to anticipate, as I have said.

Yet our beds were not perfect. Few things are. I am a rather large man,
and about three o'clock in the morning I was likely to wake up somewhat
cramped and pinched together from being so long in the little canvas
trough, with no good way of putting out my arms; besides being a little
cold, maybe, because about that hour the temperature seemed to make a
specialty of dropping low enough to get underneath one's couch and creep
up around the back and shoulders. It is true it was June, but June
nights in Nova Scotia have a way of forgetting that it is drowsy,
scented summertime; and I recall now times when I looked out through the
tent flap and saw the white frost gleaming on the trees, and wondered if
there was any sum of money too big to exchange for a dozen blankets or
so, and if, on the whole, perishing as I was, I would not be justified
in drugging Eddie in taking possession of his sleeping-bag. He had
already given me one of the woolen pockets, for compared with mine his
was a genuine Arctic affair, and, I really believe, kept him
disgustingly warm, even when I was freezing. I was grateful, of course,