They both climbed out without disturbing Owen, and soon had the breakfast fire started.
“I never knew it was so cold early in the morning,” said McConnell.
Just then a head appeared from under the canvas shelter of the Arabella. “How about that swim, McConnell?”
“No, you don’t!” retorted McConnell. “A little later in the day will do for me.”
Owen laughed as he emerged from the boat, which now was afloat again. “I’m going to try for a fish,” Owen announced; but the best he could accomplish was a very small weakfish, which he cleaned with as much satisfaction as if it had been a ten-pound bass.
Small as it was, the fish gave a delicious relish to the breakfast.
“This is simply gorgeous!” exclaimed Owen.
“Yes,” said Allan, as he sipped his coffee from the tin cup, “a millionaire in his fifty-thousand-dollar yacht couldn’t live any sweller than this.”
“Before we go,” said Owen, “I want to make a picture of the camp. Guess I’ll do it now—from that point over there,” and Owen extracted his camera from the waterproof blanket in the bow, told Allan and McConnell to stay where they were, and clambered over to the view-point he had chosen. The morning was so still that at a distance of over a hundred and fifty feet they could hear the click of his shutter.
Cool as the early morning had been, the day was pleasantly mild when the sun shone, and the Arabella sailed away with the boys in high spirits. Allan made his course to the north again, with the wind west and freshening. They decided upon a landing at a picturesque point three miles up the river, before turning about for a leisurely journey home.