ty-cooked
chicken and sandwiches and drank thermos-bottled tea.

"To-morrow we'll cook," I said. "To-night it's rather nice not to have to.
Look at the moonlight on that rock! How black it makes the eddy below!"

"Good bass under there," said Jonathan. "We'll get some to-morrow."

"Maybe."

"Well, of course, it's always maybe, with bass. Well--I'm done--and it's
quarter to ten--late! Oh! Excuse me! Maybe you'd rather I hadn't told you.
By the way, do I wind my watch to-night or not?"

"Not."

"Not it is, then. Sure you wouldn't rather have it wound, though? We can
leave it hanging in the tent. It won't break loose and bite you."

"Yes, it would. There would be a something--a taint--"

"Oh, _all_ right!"

* * * * *

We slept with the murmur of the river running through our dreams,--a murmur
of many voices: deep voices, high voices, grumbling voices as the stones
go grinding and rolling along the ever-changing bottom,--and only half
roused when the dawn chorus of the birds filled the air. That dawn chorus
was something we should have been loath to miss. Through the first gray of
the morning there comes a stir in the woods, an expectant tremor; a bird
peeps softly and is still; then another, and another, "softly conferring
together." As the light grows warmer, comes a clearer note from some
leader, then a full, complete song; another, and the woods are awake,
flinging out their wonderful song-greeting to the morning. There is in it
a prodigality of swift-changing beauty like ocean surf: a continuous and
intricate interweaving of rhythms, pulses and ebbings of clear tone,
beautiful phrases rising antiphonal, showerings of bright notes, moments
of subsidence, almost of pause. As the light grows and sharpens, the music
reaches a crescendo of exuberance, and at last dies down as real day
comes, bringing with it the day's work. On our island the leader of the
chorus was almost always a song sparrow, though once or twice a wood
thrush came over from the shore woods and filled the hemlock shadows with
the limpid splendors of his song.

Hearing the chorus through our dreams, we slept again, and when I really
waked the sun was high, flecking the eastern V of our tent with dazzling
patches. I heard Jonathan moving about outside, and the crackling of a
new-made fire. I went to the front of the tent and looked out. Yes, there
they were, the fire and Jonathan, in a quiet space of shade where