the reflection of the elms; then as a vague ill-defined form above the
River's glassy surface; finally as a wide, low, T-shaped platform wharf,
reaching its twenty feet from the grassy banks to shimmer in the heat
above its own wavering reflection.

The tug sidled alongside with a great turmoil of white-and-green
bubble-shot water drifting around in eddies from her labouring
propeller. Captain Marsh, after one prolonged jingle of his bell emerged
from his pilot-house, seized a heavy rope, and sprang ashore. The end of
the rope he cast around a snubbing-pile.

But some inset of current or excess of momentum made it impossible to
hold her. The rope creaked and cried as it was dragged around the smooth
snubbing-pile. Finally the end was drawn so close that Captain Marsh was
in danger of jamming his hands. At once, with inconceivable dexterity
and quickness, he cast loose, ran forward, wrapped the line three times
around another pile farther on and braced his short, sturdy legs against
the post for a trial of strength. Here the heavy, slow surge of the tug
was effectually checked. Captain Marsh turned his wide grin of triumph
toward his passengers. Everybody laughed, and prepared to disembark.

Between the gunwale and the wharf's edge could be seen a narrow glinting
strip of very black water. The _Robert O_ slowly approached and receded
from the dock; and this strip of water correspondingly widened and
narrowed. Over it every one must step; and the anxieties and precautions
were something tremendous. Bobby came toward the last, and was lifted
bodily across, his sturdy legs curling up under like a crab's.

The wharf he found broad and square and shady, with a narrow way leading
ashore. In the middle of it were piled, awaiting shipment on the _Lucy
Belle_, three tiers of the old-fashioned, open-built, pail-shaped
peach-baskets containing the famous Michigan fruit. Each was filled to a
gentle curve above the brim, and over the top was wired pink mosquito
netting. This at once protected the fruit from insects; added to the
brilliancy and softness of its colouring; and lent to the rows of
baskets a gay and holiday appearance. The men examined them attentively,
talking of "cling stones," "free stones," "Crawfords," and other
technicalities which Bobby could not understand. When the last lunch
basket had been passed ashore, all crossed to the bank of the river and
the grove of elms, leaving the _Robert O_ and Captain Marsh and