ing as
guide, they set off for the quay where, to the best of his belief, he
had left the sober sailor. Wonderful to relate, the sober sailor was
there, waiting patiently, smoking his pipe with his arms folded, a
picture of resignation. As far as could be perceived in the gloom of
night, he did not appear to be much surprised at hearing of the accident
which had befallen the sloop.

"Cheer up, Mynheers, we will find her," he said. "She's not likely to
have got far. There's a bit of a current round that point, but after
that the tide runs slowly, and she will have been brought up by some
other vessel across which she's been driven, or is still floating slowly
out towards the Zuyder Zee." Saying this, he bent to his oars and
pulled away down the canal. The lights glittered from the upper windows
of many houses, showing that the inhabitants were not yet in bed, and
the tall masts of numerous vessels towered up towards the sky, with
yards across seen indistinctly in the gloom of night. The moon shone
forth and shed her pale light on the smooth surface of the water, which
looked bright and silvery, very different to the hue it is apt to wear
in the daytime.

"If I were not so hungry and so anxious about our portmanteaus and
umbrellas I should enjoy this," observed the Count.

"I do enjoy it," said the Baron, stroking his waistcoat. "As to our
portmanteaus and umbrellas, my mind is greatly relieved by the
assurances of our friend the sober sailor here."

"I hope you are so with sufficient reason," observed the Count, who was
in low spirits, as people often are when they are hungry.

"I told you so, I told you so; there's the sloop," shouted the Baron.
"I am right, am I not, friend mariner?"

"Ja, ja, that's she," answered the sober sailor, pulling towards the
sloop, which was, as he had asserted would be the case, floating
leisurely along, like a snail on a garden path. He soon pulled up
alongside, when the Count and the Baron scrambled on board. The tipsy
skipper and his tipsy crew were still both fast asleep in their
respective bunks.

"Now I consider that it would be right and proper to let them float on
after we have recovered our portmanteaus and umbrellas," said the Baron.

"It would be more kind and charitable to anchor the sloop, or to take
her alongside the nearest vessel we can reach," said the Count. "What
do you say, worthy mariner?"

"We cannot anchor her, because my messmate slipped her cab