Clifford told Jack that they must "row the old tub back to Mud Flat," and both boys pluckily bent to the work. It was hard work, too. The oars were long and heavy, the boat was as unwieldy as a raft of logs, and at length Jack exclaimed: "It seems to me, Cliff, that the scenery along this river is very monotonous. We passed just such banks and houses as those over there, ten minutes ago." Clifford threw a hurried glance shoreward, looked down at the water, and immediately pulled his oar into the boat, saying: "The fates are against us, Jack. In spite of our pulling and tugging, we are actually drifting down-stream. The tide has turned; it's dead against us, and so is the wind. It would take a Cunarder to tow this miserable scow back to Mud Flat, now." "What's to be done?" asked Jack, suddenly realizing that they might be swept out into the bay, where the whitecaps gave evidence that a very high sea would be encountered. "Neither of us can swim very far," said Clifford. "Our only chance is to land on that little island, yonder. Luckily we're drifting straight toward it." Favored by the current, the boat was carried close to the sand-bar of the island, and by a vigorous use of the oars they were able to bring their craft safely to land. "We'll have to stay here until slack water," said Clifford, "and then perhaps we can row across to the shore. The next slack will be about midnight, so we'd better camp here and take advantage of to-morrow morning's slack. Then we can cross to the Highlands Landing, a short distance below here, and go back by steamboat. The Seabird will tow the Slug home for us." "All right; I'll stand by you," laconically answered Jack. They at once set about gathering grass and sea-weed with which to make a bed, intending to use the Slug's sail for a covering. After a couch had been arranged to their satisfaction, the two friends strolled around their domain, which they found to be a little larger than a city lot. During their walk, the boys caught four or five soft-shell crabs, which the epicurean Jack prudently stowed away in one of the lockers. The mosquitoes had troubled the lads greatly from the moment they landed on the sand-island; and, as they had no matches and could not make a "smudge," they soon decided to "turn in" as Jack technically stated. But then the vicious insects attacked their victims in clouds, until the boys were forced to cover their heads and hands completely with the sail; and in that uncomfortable condition they finally fell asleep. It seemed but a short time to Clifford before he became conscious of a stinging, smarting sensation on his face that was almost unbearable, and he awoke to find that he was literally covered with swarms of the poisonous little pests, while Jack, snugly rolled up in the sailcloth of which he had taken complete possession in his sleep, snored loudly. Slapping, brushing, and shaking off his tormentors, Clifford punched his companion and exclaimed: