hey came here to the edge of the beach, a fog almost as dense as
yesterday's had drifted up Channel, and the Island was invisible.
Somewhere out yonder it surely lay, and faith is the evidence of things
not seen; but it cost him all his fortitude to keep back his tears and
play the man.

By and by, leaning over the edge of the fall, he made a discovery that
almost cheered him. Right below, and a little to the left of the rocky
pool in which the tumbling stream threw up bubbles like champagne, lay a
boat--a boat without oars or mast or rudder, yet plainly serviceable,
and even freshly painted. She was stanch too, for some pints of water
overflowed her bottom boards where her stern pointed down the beach--
collected rain water, perhaps, or splashings from the pool.

The descent appeared easy to the right of the fall, and the boy
clambered down to examine her. She lay twenty feet or more--or almost
twice her length--above the line of dried seaweed left by the high
spring tides. Arthur Miles knew nothing about tides; but he soon found
that, tug as he might at the boat, he could not budge her an inch.
By and by he desisted and began to explore the beach. A tangle of
bramble bushes draped the low cliff to the right of the waterfall, and
peering beneath these, he presently discovered a pair of paddles and a
rudder, stored away for safety. He dragged out one of the paddles and
carried it to the boat, in the stern-sheets of which he made his next
find--five or six thole-pins afloat around a rusty baler. He was now as
well equipped as a boy could hope to be for an imaginary voyage, and was
fixing the thole-pins for an essay in the art of rowing upon dry land,
when Tilda, emerging from the cottage (where the nettles stung her legs)
and missing him, came to the edge of the fall in a fright lest he had
tumbled over and broken his neck. Then, catching sight of him, she at
once began to scold--as folks will, after a scare.

"Come down and play at boats!" the boy invited her.

"Shan't!" snapped Tilda. "Leave that silly boat alone, an' come an'
play at houses."

"Boats aren't silly," he retorted; "not half so silly as a house without
any roof."

"A boat out of water--bah!"

Here Tilda was forced to stoop and rub her calves, thus in one moment
demonstrating by word and action how much she had to learn before
qualifying to shine in Society.

So for the first time the two children quarrelled, and on the first day
that in