into the wilderness of islands, sandbanks, and swamp-land beyond--the land
of the willows.

The change came suddenly, as when a series of bioscope pictures snaps down
on the streets of a town and shifts without warning into the scenery of
lake and forest. We entered the land of desolation on wings, and in less
than half an hour there was neither boat nor fishing-hut nor red roof, nor
any single sign of human habitation and civilization within sight. The
sense of remoteness from the world of humankind, the utter isolation, the
fascination of this singular world of willows, winds, and waters, instantly
laid its spell upon us both, so that we allowed laughingly to one another
that we ought by rights to have held some special kind of passport to admit
us, and that we had, somewhat audaciously, come without asking leave into a
separate little kingdom of wonder and magic--a kingdom that was reserved
for the use of others who had a right to it, with everywhere unwritten
warnings to trespassers for those who had the imagination to discover them.

Though still early in the afternoon, the ceaseless buffetings of a most
tempestuous wind made us feel weary, and we at once began casting about for
a suitable camping-ground for the night. But the bewildering character of
the islands made landing difficult; the swirling flood carried us in shore
and then swept us out again; the willow branches tore our hands as we
seized them to stop the canoe, and we pulled many a yard of sandy bank into
the water before at length we shot with a great sideways blow from the wind
into a backwater and managed to beach the bows in a cloud of spray. Then we
lay panting and laughing after our exertions on the hot yellow sand,
sheltered from the wind, and in the full blaze of a scorching sun, a
cloudless blue sky above, and an immense army of dancing, shouting willow
bushes, closing in from all sides, shining with spray and clapping their
thousand little hands as though to applaud the success of our efforts.