The salvage of those knapsacks was a matter of little difficulty; not so the drying of their contents. We unpacked them, and spread them out in the sunshine, and anchored the linen to the grass with big stones, and chased the vagrant handkerchiefs, blown down the valley by the wind. Then, when all things were securely laid out to dry, and the neighbourhood began to look like a suburban garden on washing-day, we began to find time hang heavily. So--let me confess the childishness of it--we began the building of a dam across the stream, with rocks for foundation, then a layer of turves, then smaller pieces of granite, and, on top of these, bracken, more turf, and rocks again. Once or twice, when the water on the upper side of the dam had swelled, great breaches were made in it; but at last we completed a wall so thick, substantial, and impervious, contrived with such cunning alternations of material, that it afforded quite a substantial foothold to us builders, and on its lower side the bed of the stream became quite dry. And ever, as the water from above rose and began to tip this creation of ours, we added more courses to it, so that the reservoir above became deep indeed, and the water began to invade the upper banks of the stream. I cannot hope to communicate to you the peculiar pleasure we took in this, nor to give you an idea of the frantic haste with which we grubbed up more turf and piled on more boulders. We achieved an extraordinary enthusiasm in doing these things. But time wore on: the Wreck was bending over our joint architecture, putting (I think) an ornamental cornice on it by way of finishing touch, when he fell off with a great splash and a shower of stones into about three and a half feet of water, and lay grovelling there, full length, while the dam burst apart like the opening of folding-doors, and left him, in quicker time than I can write it, stranded, but--no!--not dry. Rarely have I laughed so long and so helplessly. We reached Looe toward tea-time, as the melodious crash and tinkle of tea “things” from the open doors of outlying cottages informed us. Looe lay below us, precipitous, lovely, in a golden haze. Looe was welcome, for the rocky walking of the afternoon had developed blisters. Below, directly in our path, lay an inn with a sign bespeaking “warmest welcome,” to quote from Shenstone. It was the “Salutation.” But the reception, though polite enough, belied the sign. The “missis” was out, said the landlord; he could not get us tea. Then we had to seek elsewhere, finally to find tea and a haven for the night at the “Ship.” LIII.