finally I seen a shore at some distance off an' took the oars an' pulled
for it, havin' somethin' to think of now.

"It was still a-rainin', but I didn't care for that now, but just pulled
for shore till it got dark again and stopped rainin', which was a comfort.
I pulled on till it was too dark to see anythin', and then I come to a
stake stickin' out of the water and hitched my boat to it and lay in the
bottom an' went right to sleep.

"As long as I was tethered to the stake or bush or whatever it was I
reckoned I was all right, an' so I slep' on without feelin' a bit alarmed,
knowin' that I wouldn't drift no more an' in the mornin' I could go on an'
reach the shore.

"When I woke up in the mornin' I was mightily astonished to find myself
lyin' on the ground at the foot of a big tree and to find the boat hangin'
to the topmost limb. Ye see, the rainwater had run off an' left the ground
bare again, and as the boat slipped down to the perpendickalar I was
dropped out an' went from branch to branch till----"

Percival let out a hearty laugh and fairly shook himself, saying at last
when he could find breath:

"Baron Munchausen with variations. I've heard that story before, Ben, but
the rain was snow and the twig was a church steeple. Still, it's a good
story and will bear a bit of a change."

"H'm! I knowed you'd say I was lyin'!" grunted Ben, pulling heartily on
his oar and cutting his story short.