Sitting on the upper deck, we talked and read, and watched the water
slowly drawing away from our houseboat until all about us was bare
ground; to starboard a narrow strip of it between us and the channel,
and to port a wide stretch of it between us and the shore.

We thought most and talked most of the historic island on the edge of
which we had become squatters. It was a small stage for the
world-shaping drama that had been enacted upon it.

Toward evening the tide turned again and the truant waters came back,
lapping once more the sides of our boat. The Commodore had to see that
anchors were run ahead and astern, and all made snug for the night.
Then, in the enjoyment of one of the most charming features of
houseboating, an evening meal served on the upper deck, we watched the
sun dip down behind the island and the twilight shadows gather in.

Still about us was no sight or sound of human life. The shadows
deepened and darkness came. Then gradually a faint silvery light stole
over water and marsh and wooded shore; and the stillness was broken by
a burst of faint, high, tremulous tones, as though a host of unseen
hands swept tiny invisible mandolins. The silvery light came from the
rising moon; the rest was just mosquitoes.

Next day, as soon as Gadabout was afloat, she started up stream again
to find the bridge and a landing-place. There was no trouble about the
channel this time. The waterway, as if taking pity upon indifferent
navigators, suddenly contracted to a very narrow stream, deep almost
from bank to bank, so that we could not well have got out of the
channel if we had tried. In such a place, we were stout-hearted
mariners and the good houseboat stemmed the waters gallantly. Already