nose upon the sandy beach, and Bob jumped out with the painter in his
hand to make it fast.

"Aye, sir," said Bob, "he an' mother says I may go."

"Well, come, b'y, an' we'll ha' supper an' bide here th' night an' in
th' mornin' you'll get your fit out," said Douglas when they had
pulled the punt up well away from the tide.

Entering the kitchen they found the others still at table. Greetings
were exchanged, and a place was made for Douglas and Bob.

It was a good-sized room, furnished in the simple, primitive style of
the country: an uncarpeted floor, benches and chests in lieu of
chairs, a home-made table, a few shelves for the dishes, two or three
bunks like ship bunks built in the end opposite the door to serve the
post servant and his family for beds, and a big box stove, capable of
taking huge billets of wood, crackling cheerily, for the nights were
already frosty. Resting upon crosspieces nailed to the rough beams
overhead were half a dozen muzzle loading guns, and some dog harness
hung on the wall at one side. Everything was spotlessly clean. The
floor, the table--innocent of a cloth--the shelves, benches and chests
were scoured to immaculate whiteness with sand and soap, and, despite
its meagre furnishings the room was very snug and cozy and possessed
an atmosphere of homeliness and comfort.

A single window admitted the fading evening light and a candle was
brought, though Douglas said to the young girl who placed it in the
centre of the table: