McConnell was disappointed not to be able to actually sleep on the river; but he was tired, and soon began to be too sleepy to worry very much about where he was to sleep. The shore grew dark; lights gleamed on the other side of the river; the Albany and Troy night boats, with their search-lights, had passed out of sight and sound; the dark trees swayed behind them; and the crickets and locusts had begun their drowsy night chorus.
A piece of canvas, which they had brought for the purpose, was stretched to form a tent, with the boom for its central support. The blankets were unrolled and spread; Owen lay on one side of the centre-board, Allan on the other, while McConnell completed the triangle, as he curled up across the line of their feet.
Before this had been accomplished the tide had left the boat with her keel resting in the little channel of the stream, and the Arabella stood almost upright. The night noises floated down from the hillside. Through the opening of the improvised tent they could see the stars.
XV.
A CHANGED SKY.
ALLAN was awakened just as dawn was breaking by a sensation of cold, and found McConnell tugging at the coverings in an effort to bury his head without uncovering his feet.
“Are you cold, McConnell?” Allan asked.
“About frozen,” was McConnell’s plaintive response.
“Let us get up and stir around.”