"Whew!" cried Mr. Kincaid, coming to Bobby's assistance; "she's blowing _some_! When you come back, just kick on the door, and I'll open it for you." [Illustration: "CONDEMNED!" PRONOUNCED MR. KINCAID SEVERELY, RETURNING HIM THE FRYING-PAN] Bobby stood still a moment until his eyes should expand to the darkness. He heard the repeated and rapid _swish, swish, swish_, of wavelets driven against the float, which rose and fell gently beneath his feet. A roar of wind filled the night. Occasionally it lulled. Then quite distinctly he could make out a faint grumbling diapason which he knew to be the surges beating against the distant coast. The armful of wood he brought in was not very large, but Mr. Kincaid pronounced it enough. "And now, youngster," said he, "you'd better turn in. We're going to get up very early in the morning." For as long as five minutes Bobby lay awake between the soft woollen blankets. This was his first experience without sheets. Mr. Kincaid had blown out the candle and was sitting back smoking a last pipe. Light from the dying fire in the stove threw his shadow gigantic behind him. As the flames rose or died this shadow advanced or receded, leaped or fell, swelled or diminished; and all the other shadows did likewise. In the entire room Mr. Kincaid's figure was the only motionless object. Soon Bobby's vision blurred. The dancing shadows became unreal, changed to dream creatures. Twice a realization, a delicious, poignant realization of the morrow brought him back to consciousness; and the dream creatures to the shadows. Then finally he drifted away with only the feeling of something pleasant about to happen, lying as a background to sleep. He awoke in what seemed to him the middle of the night after an absolutely _black_ sleep. His first thought was that the broad of his back was shivering; his next that the tip of his nose was marvellous cold; his last that he was curled all up in a ball like a furry raccoon. Then he heard the scratch of a match. A light immediately flickered. In two minutes the little stove was roaring and Mr. Kincaid was exhorting him to arise. "Come on, now!" he called. "Duck time!" Bobby dressed in his thickest winter clothes, which he had brought for the occasion. When, after breakfast, he put on his reefer and over that the canvas coat, he looked and felt like a cocoon. "That's all right," Mr. Kincaid reassured him. "It's going to be cold, and you'll be mighty glad of them." They stepped out on the float, and Mr. Kincaid thrust the duck-boat into the water. Bobby had never seen so many stars. The heavens were full of them, and the still water had its share. Not a breath of wind was stirring. Through the silence could be heard more plainly the roar of the surf far away. The quacking of ducks came from near and far. Nothing of the marsh was visible.