We hoped on the 7th, by evening, to reach Yarmouth, but were doomed to disappointment, as upon night closing in, we were only off Kessingland, a mile or two south of Lowestoft. As we did not want to enter the Bure before daylight, I decided to run into Lowestoft Harbour for the night, which we did, and had a good night's rest. If I had not been so eager to get home I should have passed under the bridge into Lake Lothing, and so through Oulton Broad into the Waveney on my way, but now I was as eager as a schoolboy, and could not bear the loss of even an hour. On the 8th we slipped out of harbour at dawn, which was about five o'clock, and by seven a.m. crossed Yarmouth Bar, at which my heart thumped so much that I looked round to see if Alec noticed it; probably _if_ he heard it he took it for the bump of the paddles on the water, as a tug passed us towing a couple of fishing boats into the offing. At breakfast time, eight o'clock, we moored in the mouth of the Bure, just alongside the quay by the ancient North Gate, which has looked down upon the muddy old river for the past five centuries, its head held high in the air, as if wishing to avoid the assortment of smells which accompany the floating garbage sailing slowly towards the sea. How impatient I was for the tide to run up and bear me home to Barton, about twenty miles from our present moorings, and at last it did turn. To give it time to gain strength we waited a full hour, then, spreading our joyous sails, away we sped. I might say we _tried_ to rival the express rate, but our actual progress was very parliamentary. We drew only three feet of water, but with a slack tide under us we touched ground several times between North Gate and the One-mile-house, so had to be very careful. From thence onward we had deep water and progressed faster. It was nearly two o'clock as we lowered sail to pass Acle Bridge, and only about half our journey completed. Stepping the masts, hoisting sail, and having a glass of good Norfolk ale at the little inn alongside the bridge occupied half an hour, but now the river was deeper and the wind fresher, we went bowling along capitally, till taking the turn before reaching St. Benet's Abbey, where we lost the favour of the wind. The flat miles of marsh land looked strange to me after hilly, toilsome Jethou. But now I was nearing home, and knew every tree and fence, every break in the river wall, and every house we passed, and loved them all; greeting them as familiar friends as we glided silently by them.