in the lee of an island, we paused to rest and unroll our
chart and get our bearings, while the smooth rise and fall of the ground
swell was all there was to remind us of the riot of water just outside.
Then we were off again, and the imps had us. They were busy, those imps,
all that long, windy, wave-tossed, wonderful day.

For it was wonderful, and the imps were indeed frustrate, wholly
frustrate. We pulled toward the quiet harbor that evening with aching
muscles, hair and clothes matted with salt water, but spirits undaunted.
Hungry, too, for we had not been able to do more than munch a few ship's
biscuit while we rowed. Wind, tide, waves, all against us, boat leaking,
oars disabled--and still--"Isn't it great!" we said, "great--great!"

Dusk was closing in and lights began to blink along the western shore. We
beached on a sandy point and asked our way,--where could we put up for the
night? Children, barelegged, waded out around the boat, looking at us and
our funny, laden craft, with curious eyes. Yes, they said, there was an
inn, farther up the harbor, where we saw those lights--ten minutes' row,
perhaps. We pulled off again, stiffly.

"Tired?" said Jonathan. "I'll take her in."

"Indeed you won't! Of course I'm tired, but I've got to do something to
keep warm. And I want to get in. I want supper. They'll all be in bed if
we don't hurry."

Our tired muscles lent themselves mechanically to their work and the boat
slid across the quiet waters of the moonlit harbor. The town lights grew
bigger, wharves loomed above us, and soon we were gliding along under
their shadow. The eddies from our oars went _lap-lap-lapping_ off among
the great dark spiles and stirred up the keen smell of salt-soaked timbers
and seaweed. Blindly groping, we found a rickety ladder, tied our boat and
climbed stiffly up, and there we were on our feet again, feeling rather
queer and stretchy after seven hours in our cramped quarters.

Half an hour later we were sitting in the warm, clean kitchen of the old
inn, and a kindly but mystified hostess was mothering us with eggs and ham
and tea and pie and doughnuts and other things that a New England kitchen
always contains. While we ate she sat and rocked energetically,
questioning us with friendly curiosity and watching us with keen though
benevolent eyes.

"Rowed, did you? Jim!" calling back over her shoulder through a half-open
door, "did you hear that? These folks have rowed all the way acros