What became of your boat? I asked finally.
Sold. You kept yours.
Yes. Its in the cellar, there at Nantucket. I could have it sent on.
Cost as much as to buy a new one.
A new one wouldnt be as good. I bristled a little. Any one who has owned a boat is very sensitive about its virtues.
How big?
How should I know? A little boatmaybe twelve feet.
Two oars?
Four.
Round bottom?
Yes. Shed ride anything.
WellJonathan suddenly expandedheres an idea now! How would you like to have it sent on to the mainland, and then row it the rest of the wayalong the Rhode Island and Connecticut sh.o.r.es?
I sat straight up. Jonathan! Lets do it now!
Jonathan chuckled. My! What a hurry shes in!
Well, lets!
We couldnt. The boat will have to be overhauled first.
Oh, dear! I suppose so.
We could do it next spring, and go up the trout streams.
Think of that! I murmured.
Or in September and get the sh.o.r.e huntingthe salt marshes.
Oh, which?which? Already I was following our course along curving beaches and amongst the yellow marshlands. But Jonathans mind was working on more practical details.
Twelve feet, you said?
About that.
Pretty close stowing for our dunnagestilllets seetwo guns
Or the rods, if we went in the spring.
And rubber coats, and blankets
Jonathan! Should we camp?
Might have to.
Lets, anyway.
How does that coast-line run? Wheres a map?
All we had were some railroad maps and an old school geographyjust enough to tantalize usbut we fell upon them eagerly. It is curious what a change comes over these dumb bits of colored paper at such times. Every curve of the sh.o.r.e, every bay and headland came to life and spoke to uscalled to us.
We decided on the September plan, and for the next eleven months our casual talk was starred with inapropos remarks like these:
Jonathan, I know we shall forget a can-opener.
Better write it down while you think of it. And have you put down a hatchet?
The camera! It isnt on the list!
Hang it! Those charts havent come yet!
What can we take to look respectable in when we go ash.o.r.e?
Meanwhile the little boat was stirred out of its long sleep in the cellar, overhauled, and painted, and shipped to a port up in Narragansett Bay. And on the last day of August we found ourselves walking down through the little town. Following the instructions of wondering small boys, we came to a gate in a board fence, opened it and let ourselves into a typical New England seaport scenea tiny garden, ablaze with sunshine and gorgeous with the yellows and lavenders of fall flowers, and a narrow brick path, under a grape-vine arch, leading down to the sand and the wharf and the sparkling blue waters of the bay. As we pa.s.sed down through the garden, we saw a little boat, bottom up, dazzling white in the sun.
There it is! I said, with a surge of reminiscent affection.
That little thing! said Jonathan. I thought you said twelve feet.
Well, isnt it? Anyway, I said _about_. And its big enough.
He was spanning its length with his hands.
Eleven foot six. Oh, I suppose sh.e.l.l do. My boat was fourteen.
Now, dont be so patronizing about your boat. Wait till you see how mine behaves.
He dropped the discussion and got her launched. Is there anything prettier than a pretty boat floating beside a dock!
The next morning when we came down we found her half full of water.
Sh.e.l.l be all right now shes soaked up, said Jonathan, and we baled her dry and went off to get our stuff.
I delayed to buy provisions, and when I came back I found Jonathan standing on the float surrounded by plunder of all sorts. He answered my hail rather solemnly.
See here! When this stuffs all stowed, where are we going to sit? Thats whats worrying me.