was burnt and dry. At times the
creek was as wide as an ordinary river, at others so contracted that one
could gather grass on either side. Isabel told Gwynne to "watch out for
other boats," for the creek wound and twisted and doubled like a mammoth
brown snake into an infinite perspective, broken here and there by
sailing boats that had the effect of skimming the land. It was a scene
reminiscent of Holland, but far more beautiful, with the wild primeval
character of the landscape and the grandeur of the mountains.

Isabel indicated an island well out in the marsh. It was crowned with a
white house shaded by many trees. Men in duck trousers, and coatless,
were lounging in the shade.

"That is a country club," she said. "Tom Colton will put you up. But if
you are still disinclined to sociabilities you can shoot all the ducks
you want on my place."

"Shoot what?"

"Best duck-shooting in the world is out here--canvas-back, teal, English
widgeon--fancy your not knowing that. It begins on the fifteenth of
October. I have not rented my marsh-lands this year, and intend to shoot
ducks for the market. You can help me and we'll go halves."

Gwynne's eyes were sparkling. He had expected to kill his bear and deer,
but any variety of sport new or old gave him joy. Isabel pointed to many
little shanties on the edge of the marsh.

"The more enthusiastic sit in those and wait for the tide to come back.
I avoid being left high and dry, for if the ducks go elsewhere it is
rather a bore."

The mountains on the left diminished in height, turned off abruptly to
the northwest, following the coast line. Those on the right took form in
the pink mist that enveloped them, for the sun had set. All the lower
sky was pink, melting imperceptibly into the still pale blue of day. Far
to the north other mountains seemed suddenly to heave from the level,
villages appeared, with great stretches of farming land between. Then
the glow faded into the gray of twilight and the vast landscape took on
a sudden aspect of desolation; as of a country stranded, forgotten,
with a heap of stones here and there to mark some ancient civilization.

"There is Rosewater--over there where the lights are coming out; and
here we are," said Isabel.

Gwynne turned with a start and found that Isabel had run her launch up
to a little pier. Behind it was a cluster of low hills set with narrow
fields and tiny white houses. In the foreground was a large house of two
sto