and I experienced a feeling of relief. Yes, I was distinctly glad
just then that the Swede was--what he was, and that he never made remarks
that suggested more than they said.

"The river's still rising, though," he added, as if following out some
thoughts of his own, and dropping his load with a gasp. "This island will
be under water in two days if it goes on."

"I wish the wind would go down," I said. "I don't care a fig for the
river."

The flood, indeed, had no terrors for us; we could get off at ten minutes'
notice, and the more water the better we liked it. It meant an increasing
current and the obliteration of the treacherous shingle-beds that so often
threatened to tear the bottom out of our canoe.

Contrary to our expectations, the wind did not go down with the sun. It
seemed to increase with the darkness, howling overhead and shaking the
willows round us like straws. Curious sounds accompanied it sometimes, like
the explosion of heavy guns, and it fell upon the water and the island in
great flat blows of immense power. It made me think of the sounds a planet
must make, could we only hear it, driving along through space.

But the sky kept wholly clear of clouds, and soon after supper the full
moon rose up in the east and covered the river and the plain of shouting
willows with a light like the day.

We lay on the sandy patch beside the fire, smoking, listening to the noises
of the night round us, and talking happily of the journey we had already
made, and of our plans ahead. The map lay spread in the door of the tent,
but the high wind made it hard to study, and presently we lowered the
curtain and extinguished the lantern. The firelight was enough to smoke and
see each other's faces by, and the sparks flew about overhead like
fireworks. A few yards beyond, the river gurgled and hissed, and from time
to time a heavy splash announced the falling away of further portions of
the bank.

Our talk, I noticed, had to do with the faraway scenes and incidents of our
first camps in the Black Forest, or of other subjects altogether remote
from the present setting, for neither of us spoke of the actual moment more
than was necessary--almost as though we had agreed tacitly to avoid
discussion of the camp and its incidents. Neither the otter nor the
boatman, for instance, received the honor of a single mention, though
ordinarily these would have furnished discussion for the greater part of
the evening. They were, of c