“Well, I should rather like to know what time it is. We won’t begin till to-morrow.”
“You mean, we won’t begin to stop watching. All right. It’s just seventeen and a half [pg 140] minutes after five. I’ll give you the seconds if you like.”
“Minutes will do nicely, thank you.”
“Lots of time. You collect firewood while I get the tent ready. Then it’ll need us both to set it up.”
We worked busily, happily. Ah! The joyous elation of the first night in camp! Is there anything like it? With days and days ahead, and not even one counted off the shining number! All the good things of childhood and maturity seem pressed into one mood of flawless, abounding happiness.
By dark the tent was up, the baggage stowed, the canoe secured, the fire glowing in a bed of embers, and we sat beside it, looking out past the glooms of the hemlocks across the moonlit river,—sat and ate city-cooked chicken and sandwiches and drank thermos-bottled tea.
“To-morrow we’ll cook,” I said. “To-night it’s rather nice not to have to. Look at the moonlight on that rock! How black it makes the eddy below!”
“Good bass under there,” said Jonathan. “We’ll get some to-morrow.”
“Maybe.”
“Well, of course, it’s always maybe, with bass. Well—I’m done—and it’s quarter to ten—late! Oh! Excuse me! Maybe you’d rather I hadn’t told you. By the way, do I wind my watch to-night or not?”