It was during these
last excursions that an event occurred which has exercised the most
material influence upon my fate, though at the time it seemed to me
no more than the matter of a day.
"I had just returned from Canada and was resting in tolerable
enjoyment of a very beautiful autumn at Lake George, when a letter
reached me from a friend then loitering in the vicinity, urging me to
join him in a certain small town in Vermont where trout streams
abounded and what is not so often the case under the circumstances,
fishers were few.
"Being in a somewhat reckless mood I at once wrote a consent, and
before another day was over, started for the remote village whence
his letter was postmarked. I found it by no means easy of access.
Situated in the midst of hills some twenty miles or so distant from
any railroad, I discovered that in order to reach it, a long ride in
a stage-coach was necessary, followed by a somewhat shorter journey on
horseback. Not being acquainted with the route, I timed my
connections wrong, so that when evening came I found myself riding
over a strange road in the darkest night I had ever known. As if this
was not enough, my horse suddenly began to limp and presently became
so lame I found it impossible to urge her beyond a slow walk.
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