He dragged the anchor from the bow locker and dropped it over, shortened the line and made it fast, his hands all thumbs, and then made his bed. The boat-hook, rescued by Lank or Cocker from the water, again served him well. He rested an end on each gunwale, draped the folds of the canvas over it in the shape of a tent and crawled beneath. But the canvas was unsympathetic against his chilled body and he stumbled out and searched the nearer lockers. Luck was with him, for he found Tim’s gray flannel shirt and a pair of trousers; whose, Pud neither knew nor cared. Clothed in these garments, he again sought the seclusion of his improvised tent. This time, in lowering himself to the floor, he came in contact with an uncomfortable object that proved to be Lank’s package. He thrust it out of the way, gathered the folds of the canvas under his head as a pillow and, with a long and delicious sigh, gave himself to slumber. He was just floating blissfully off when a disturbing thought came to him. He hadn’t written to his folks that day! Worse, the letter he had written yesterday still lay in his jacket pocket, unposted! These reflections, though, couldn’t keep him awake long, and soon he was fast asleep. Had he known that the one letter posted by him had, by one of those mistakes such as even an efficient Post-Office Department sometimes makes, been dispatched to Millersville instead of Millville, and that it was not to arrive at the little house on Arundel Street until the next morning, he might have been kept awake two minutes longer, but certainly no more than that! He awoke to an amber glow that offended his eyes. For a moment he wondered dazedly where he was. Then he turned his head and snuggled back, his whereabouts a matter of no interest. But it was more than the sunlight striking through the faded brown canvas that had disturbed him, and he was destined to sleep no longer. There were sounds about him, and then his tent was invaded and a lean countenance with a grizzled mustache and two keen brown eyes was bending over him. About the same instant the boat-hook fell on one of Pud’s ankles and he became very wide awake, though sorely puzzled. ‘Hello!’ said the lips under the grizzled mustache. ‘Hello,’ replied Pud vaguely. ‘What time――’ But that inquiry didn’t seem just the right one, and he changed it to: ‘What do you want?’ ‘Well, we might be wanting you,’ answered the man. Two other faces appeared, a long, tanned face, clean-shaven, and a somewhat round face that held a wide smile. Pud thought that they must find it rather uncomfortable to be standing in the water like that, but when he had attained a sitting position he found that they were leaning over the side of a trim launch lying alongside. That was both surprising and interesting, and Pud climbed to his feet to have a better look. ‘What’s your name, youngster?’ pursued the man who had spoken before.