He now picked up some dead wood, and making a fire, cooked his coot, took a drink of water from the brook, anchored the boat in the middle of the cove, and wrapping himself in the sails, was soon fast asleep.
With the break of day he weighed anchor, and made sail for Uncle Isaac’s. He arrived there just as they were eating breakfast.
“You’ve come in a good time, Charlie; sit down with us.”
No sooner was appetite appeased than he described the place he had been so much delighted with, to Uncle Isaac, and told him all about it, and also about the island; what large birches there were on it; that he saw a cove in one end of it, as he passed, that wound around as it went in.
“That cove,” said Uncle Isaac, “is the safest little harbor that can be: no sea can get in there, the mouth is so narrow, and it is so crooked. The bark on my birch came from that island, and better land never lay out doors.”
“Who owns it?”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody?”
“No. I suppose it belongs to the state; but it don’t belong to any individual. We don’t think anything here of a little thing like that.”