There is nothing in all the world more enjoyable than
tumbling from your blankets, to unlace the "flap" of the tent, to fling
it wide and step out into the soft grey world before sunrise, to swallow
whole breaths of fresh, sweet morning air; then to plunge into a still,
cool lake, and drive sleep from the corners of your eyes, as the winking
sun drives night from the forest. Then another enjoyable thing is to
have Tom, Dick or Harry hustle about and get the kettle boiling and fish
frying while you are yet plunging about like a frog, and by the time you
have rushed ashore, and into your shorts and sweater and "wigwam" shoes,
the aforesaid pleasant persons have breakfast ready, and you come around
just in time to make away with vast bowls of coffee, and unlimited fish
and toast.
This is all very well, if you have the whole lake and its outletting
river all to yourselves, with no one to scare the fish and game, and
none to trespass on your camp ground; but picture to yourselves the
consternation that assailed the boys when, the following night, the
train brought in another camping crowd, that trailed up the shore with
a great deal of fuss, and pitched camp directly across the point from
them--a crowd of at least ten men.
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