uring her between two anchors, one ahead and one
astern) is rather unsatisfactory at the best. Often it is necessary so
to hobble your floating home where there is danger of her swinging upon
hidden obstructions; but it is hard on the poetry of houseboating. To
be held in one position, with unvarying scenes in your windows, is too
much like living in a prosaic land home set immovable in sameness.

Your gypsy craft should ride to a single anchor; free to swing to wind
and tide in the rhythm of the river. It is of the essence of home life
afloat to sit down to dinner heading up-stream, and to rise from table
heading down-stream; to open a favourite book with a bit of shore-view
in the casement beside you, and to close the chapter with the open
river stretching from under your window, your half-drawn shade perhaps
cutting the topsail from a distant schooner.

Monday morning dawned bright and fair (as we afterward learned from the
sailor); and bright and fair it certainly was when we made its
acquaintance. The day was yet young when everything was ready for the
trip up the river, and the shores of the little creek were echoing the
harsh clicks of our labouring windlass.

"She's hove short, and all ready to start whenever you are, sir,"
announced the sailor at the bow door.

Nautica snipped a thread and laid down her sewing; the Commodore tossed
his magazine aside. A moment more and we were off. When well out in the
river, we headed toward the left bank, for we were to make a landing at
the pier above Westover to take on two boxes of provisions that had
been left there for us by the Pocahontas. The steamer had gone;
everybody about the wharf had gone; but we had arranged to have the
boxes left out for us, and there they stood on the end of the pier.

Aboard Gadabout was the stir and bustle usually incident to the making
of a landing. Clear and sharp rose the voice of the Commodore; now
issuing his orders, now taking them back again. When he could think of
nothing more to say, he went below and relieved Nautica at the wheel as
our good ship swung beautifully in toward the wharf.

It must be remembered that a houseboat does not come up to piers like a
steamboat, always finding men waiting to catch lines and to help in
making landings. Often, as was the way of it that morning, the
wandering houseboat comes along to find only an empty pier; and if she
wishes to establish any closer relations with it, she must make all the