"It must have been the surf I heard," Hugh thought, still trying
to decide what had roused him from sleep.

Quietly rising, so as not to disturb his friends, he stole down
to the beach and stood gazing at the sloop, which now rode calmly
at anchor, her bow light still shining.

"And yet it did sound like a motor boat," he said aloud.

The sound of his own voice, breaking the stillness, almost startled
him. With a short, low laugh at his habit of talking aloud when
alone, he turned his back on camp and walked on for some little
distance up the beach, until he rounded a curve of the shore and
saw before him a narrow channel separating the island on which he
stood from another, slightly larger. Clumps of young palms grew on
that other island, taller and greener than those around the camping
place. Hugh had been told that a palmetto bud cut out of a young,
fresh, green palm would be fine with a piece of fat pork in making
a stew; so he felt tempted to swim across the estuary and gather a
choice bud.

The fact is, this desire was chiefly an excuse for a bit of exploration.
Hugh loved to prowl around in unfamiliar places even if he were
alone, though he naturally preferred to share a quest of discoveries
with some comrade. So now, shedding his coat, outer shirt, and shoes,
but retaining his other garments for protection against mosquitoes,
he dived into the inlet and swam across it easily.

Continuing his tramp, he presently found himself on the slope of a