After a while, a small steamer came in from the James, a boat plying
regularly between Norfolk and landings along this creek.

It was just the kind of steamer, any one would say, to be running on
the Chuckatuck--a fat, wheezy side-wheeler that came up to its landing
near us with three hearty whistles and such a jovial puffing as seemed
to say, "Now, I'm certainly mighty glad to get back again to you all."
Just the sort of steamer that wouldn't mind a bit if the pretty girls
were "a right smart time" kissing goodbye; or if the Colonel had to
finish his best story; or if old Maria had to "study a spell" because
she had "done forgot" what Miss Clarissa wanted the steward to bring
from the city next day.

As the sun sank behind the hills (or rather some time after, for we
never could be nautically prompt), our flags were run down and the
anchor-light was hoisted on the forward flagstaff.

The summer night closed in softly; the blue waters grew dark, and
caught from the sky the rich lights that the setting sun had left
behind. We could see figures sitting upon the white porticoes looking
out over the miniature harbour. Somewhere were the music of a
merry-go-round and the calls and laughter of children. In from the
wider waters came more boats, their white sails folding down as they
neared their haven. All the beautiful mystery of the deepening twilight
touched water and masts, and shadowed the circling shore.

Then came the long hours of darkness when, with all aboard asleep,
Gadabout lay quietly at anchor, the riding-light upon her flagstaff
gently swaying throughout the night. Silently, with none to heed and
none to know, was enacted again in the gloom the play that is as old as