After continuing our descent till our only guide, the spring run, became quite a trout brook, and its tiny murmur a loud brawl, we began to peer anxiously through the trees for a glimpse of the lake, or for some conformation of the land that would indicate its proximity.  An object which we vaguely discerned in looking under the near trees and over the more distant ones proved, on further inspection, to be a patch of plowed ground.  Presently we made out a burnt fallow near it.  This was a wet blanket to our enthusiasm.  No lake, no sport, no trout for supper that night.  The rather indolent young man had either played us a trick, or, as seemed more likely, had missed the way.  We were particularly anxious to be at the lake between sundown and dark, as at that time the trout jump most freely.

Pushing on, we soon emerged into a stumpy field, at the head of a steep valley, which swept around toward the west.  About two hundred rods below us was a rude log house, with smoke issuing from the chimney.  A boy came out and moved toward the spring with a pail in his hand.  We shouted to him, when he turned and ran back into the house without pausing to reply.  In a moment the whole family hastily rushed into the yard, and turned their faces toward us.  If we had come down their chimney, they could not have seemed more astonished.  Not making out what they said, I went down to the house, and learned to my chagrin that we were still on the Mill Brook side, having crossed only a spur of the mountain.  We had not borne sufficiently to the left, so that the main range, which, at the point of crossing, suddenly breaks off to the southeast, still intervened between us and the lake.  We were about five miles, as the water runs, from the point of starting, and over two from the lake.  We must go directly back to the top of the range where the guide had left us, and then, by keeping well to the left, we would soon come to a line of marked trees, which would lead us to the lake.  So, turning upon our trail, we doggedly began the work of undoing what we had just done,—­in all cases a disagreeable task, in this case a very laborious one also.  It was after sunset when we turned back, and before we had got halfway up the mountain, it began to be quite dark.  We were often obliged to rest our packs against the trees and take breath, which made our progress slow.  Finally a halt was called, beside an immense flat rock which had paused on its slide down the mountain, and we prepared to encamp for the night.  A fire was built the rock cleared off, a small ration of bread served out, our accoutrements hung up out of the way of the hedgehogs that were supposed to infest the locality, and then we disposed ourselves for sleep.  If the owls or porcupines (and I think I heard one of the latter in the middle of the night) reconnoitred our camp, they saw a buffalo robe spread upon a rock, with three old felt hats arranged on one side, and three pairs of sorry-looking cowhide boots protruding from the other.