channels were water-lanes. Each little way was like every other,
and one could well wander amiss down between those winding walls of
sedges.

We paddled very slowly, often stopping to let the boat drift on the ebb
tide. Why might we not find out the secret of the marshes if we went
very softly through the heart of them?--that secret of which the
slender reeds are always whispering; that mystery that keeps them
always a-shiver. Is it something they have hidden from the searching
tide? Is it known to the little marsh-hen that cunningly builds her
nest at the foot of the sedges? Is it guessed by the restless finny
folk that slip and search beneath the brown waters?

Holding our boat quiet in the ebbing bayou, we looked and listened.
There were sounds of sibilant dripping in the dim sedges; of alewives
jumping by the side of our boat; of a sudden rush of blackbird wings;
and of the evening breeze as it freshened in the bending blades. We
could see the many rivulets, wine-red now in the sunset light; and the
graceful swaying of great grasses, pale green and silver and tan; and
the red and golden sky above: ebbing rivulets, rippling reeds, drifting
clouds, and sunset shades. And that was all. Nor had we guessed the
secret of the marshes.

Yet, we should have been content still to look and to listen, down in
the hidden tiny ways of the marshland, but for the fading light that
warned us homeward. What would night be among the sedges with the
wandering rivulets full of twinkling stars, with the soft calling of
wakeful birds, and with the skurrying of little creatures in their
shadowy forest of reeds?

Slowly we paddled on in the twilight; on through the little water-gate
and out upon the Kittewan, where images of the bordering trees lay
sharp and black on the strangely purple water. From down-stream where
Gadabout waited, came such a fervent burst of song that we knew that
the entire crew was urging its soul to be on guard--

"Te-en thou-san' foes ah-rise."

CHAPTER XVII

ACROSS RIVER TO FLEUR DE HUNDRED

The next day we determined to run around to the river front of
Weyanoke. We were yet charmed with the idea of being back-door
neighbours of the old plantation; but not at quite such long range.
When the tide served, Gadabout dropped down the twisting Kittewan.
Though she paused involuntarily in trying to round the island where the
sweet gum flamed against the pines, and caught her propeller on a
cypress s