"
"Down there!" exclaimed Euphemia. "Why there are thousands of them
here! I never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every
minute."
"I'll tell you what we must do," I exclaimed, jumping up. "We must
make a smudge."
"What's that? do you rub it on yourself?" asked Euphemia,
anxiously.
"No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves
and make a smoldering fire of them."
We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the
leeward of it, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her
head would come off. With tears running from her eyes, she
declared that she would rather go and be eaten alive, than stay in
that smoke.
"Perhaps we were too near it," said I.
"That may be," she answered, "but I have had enough smoke. Why
didn't I think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put
these over our faces, and wear gloves."
She was always full of expedients.
Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we sat
and talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my
veil, through which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe.
When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared
for a well-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and
comfortable, and we each had a nice little cot-bed.
"Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?" said
Euphemia, as I came in after a final round to see that all was
right.
"I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door," I said, "but
I think it would be better to leave it open; otherwise we should
smother.
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