"Because," said Bart, excited by his effort and danger, "because to
myself I staked all my future on reaching you in that old hulk, and I
won. Had it sunk, I had made up my mind to go with her, and, like Mr.
Mantalini, in Dickens's last novel, 'become a body, a demnition moist
unpleasant body.'"

"What old wreck is it?" inquired Young, looking at the scarcely
perceptible craft that was sinking near them.

"It is the remains of the old canoe made by Thomas Ridgeley, in his
day, I think," said Jonah.

"Nothing of the sort," said Bart; "it is the remains of old Bullock's
'gundalow,' that has been sinking and swimming, like old John Adams
in the Revolution, these five years past. Don't let me think to-night,
Uncle Jonah, that anything from my father's hand came to take me into
the depths of this pond."

The craft occupied by the party was a broad, scow-like float, with low
sides, steady, and of considerable capacity. At the bow was a raised
platform, covered with gravel, on which stood a fire-jack. The crew
were lying on the silent water, engaged with their lines, when Bart so
unceremoniously joined them. He went forward to a vacant place and lay
down in the bottom, declining to take a line.

"What is the matter, Bart?" asked the Doctor.

"I don't know. I've been wandering about in the woods, and I must have
met something, or I have lost something,--I don't know which."