wooden box which had once held flowers along a window-sill. We had
painted ports upon her sides, and we had rigged her with a single
square sail. With a strong southwesterly wind blowing up the valley,
she would sail for nearly a mile whenever the floods were out, and
though she often ran aground, we could always get her off, as the
water was so shallow.

Now, one day (I suppose it was about the middle of the month) we went
to sail this ship (we used to call her the _Snail_) from our side
of the flood, right across the river-course, to the old slate quarry
on the opposite side. The distance was, perhaps, three hundred
yards. We chose this site because in this place there was a sort of
ridge causeway leading to a bridge, so that we could follow our ship
across the flood without getting our feet wet. In the old days the
quarry carts had crossed the brook by this cause-way, but the quarry
was long worked out, and the road and bridge were now in a bad state,
but still good enough for us, and well above water.

We launched the _Snail_ from a green, shelving bank, and shoved
her off with the long sticks we carried. The wind caught her sail and
drove her forward in fine style; she made a great ripple as she
went. Once she caught in a drowned bush; but the current swung her
clear, and she cut across the course of the brook like a Falmouth
Packet. Hugh and I ran along the causeway, and over the bridge, to
catch her on the other side. We had our eyes on her as we ran, for we
feared that she might catch, or capsize; and we were so intent upon
our ship that we noticed nothing else. Now when we came to the end of
the causeway, and turned to the right, along the shale and rubble
tipped there from the quarry, we saw a man coming down the slope to
the water, evidently bent on catching the _Snail_ when she