The boat had so gently drifted off, and had so gently grounded among the reeds, that the voyage had never so much as disturbed their games of checkers.
“He plays such a splendid game,” Euphemia sobbed, “and just as you came, I thought I was going to beat him. I had two kings and two pieces on the next to last row, and you are nearly drowned. You'll get your death of cold—and—and he had only one king.”
She led me away and I undressed and washed myself and put on my Sunday clothes.
When I reappeared I went out on deck with Euphemia. The boarder was there, standing by the petunia bed. His arms were folded and he was thinking profoundly. As we approached, he turned toward us.
“You were right about that anchor,” he said, “I should not have hauled it in; but it was such a little anchor that I thought it would be of more use on board as a garden hoe.”
“A very little anchor will sometimes do very well,” said I, cuttingly, “when it is hooked around a tree.”
“Yes, there is something in that,” said he.
It was now growing late, and as our agitation subsided we began to be hungry. Fortunately, we had everything necessary on board, and, as it really didn't make any difference in our household economy, where we happened to be located, we had supper quite as usual. In fact, the kettle had been put on to boil during the checker-playing.
After supper, we went on deck to smoke, as was our custom, but there was a certain coolness between me and our boarder.
Early the next morning I arose and went upstairs to consider what had better be done, when I saw the boarder standing on shore, near by.