It was so obviously plain that four additional passengers could not get on board that little boat that the subject was not even broached, Adam confining himself to inquiries in regard to the possibilities of there being other boats down the river of which Mr. Brewer had not heard. But the mail-carrier assured him that there were no boats down there that could come up inside of a week, and the sportsman declared that he never would have squeezed himself inside this little tub if there had been any other chance of his getting up the river. There was only one relief afforded by the mail-boat. The boys, anticipating that they might not be able to go on themselves, had each written a letter to his family, telling where he was, and giving a brief history of the state of affairs. Each letter, written on rumpled stationery supplied by Mr. Brewer, contained assurances of the perfect safety of the writer, and a request for money to be forwarded to Jacksonville, Florida, which point they hoped to reach in good time. These, with money for the postage, were given to the carrier, who promised to have them properly mailed at the first post-office on the river. A telegram was also written and given to the sporting gentleman, who promised to forward it as soon as he reached Sanford, on the St. John’s River, this being the nearest point from which telegrams could be sent. “There, now,” said Chap, when the little boat had sailed away, “I feel more comfortable. The folks will know all about us just as soon as if we had gone on ourselves, and that’s the main thing; for, as far as I’m concerned, I’m in no particular hurry to get home.” “You don’t want to stay here, do you?” asked Phœnix. “No,” said Chap; “but we can tramp along and camp out for a while, till a boat comes by and takes us on. I don’t want any better fun than that.” “We can’t tramp much farther on this beach,” said Phil. “It only reaches about a mile above us, Mr. Brewer says, and tramping and camping for a week or two, with no paths to walk in and nothing to eat, would be pretty tough work.” “We could push back to the sea-shore,” said Chap, “and walk along there.” “That might do as far as the walking is concerned,” said Phœnix; “but how about the victuals?” “I’m not quartermaster,” said Chap, “I’m captain; and I’ll lead you fellows anywhere you want to go.” “That’s the way to talk,” said Phil; “but it won’t do to lead us to any place so far from this house that we can’t hear them call at mealtime. We can’t live straight along on fish, you know.” A few minutes after this conversation, Adam Guy walked up to Mr. Brewer, who was leaning on the fence of his little garden. “Look here, John Brewer!” he cried; “what did you mean by sayin’ that we couldn’t get a boat to go up the river in? In that little creek back there, there’s a boat plenty big enough for us. Don’t she belong to you?”