are moving about in various directions. Huge groaning windmills, with
tattered sails, guard the shore and torture the Indian corn into
bread-stuff. Now for the first time the traveler begins to realize
what it is to see wild fowl. The water seems black with ducks and
geese, and dazzling white with the graceful swans. The latter sit in
great flocks on the shoals, for miles in length. As the steamer
approaches, they arise in such vast numbers as to nearly blacken the
heavens with a rushing sound like the coming tornado. Arriving as near
our destination as the vessel can take us, we disembark, landing on a
strong platform built far out from the shore. For a half hour we are
busy getting our traps from the bait--guns, dogs, ammunition, boxes,
bags, bales, bundles, baskets and barrels. We had left nothing
unpurchased which could contribute to the comfort of the inner or
outer man--especially the former. Now we transfer everything to a
small boat, sent from the beach miles away, to meet and convey us to
our journey's end--our home for a few weeks, where we must conform to
the customs of the natives as near as possible. We do not reach the
Hall until the twilight has faded into darkness. The water is too
shallow to allow even this small craft to approach the shore near
enough to enable us to land, so carts are driven out to it, and the
baggage and provisions piled therein. The teams being loaded, us city
folks, with store clothes on, are carried ashore on the backs of our
amiable and hospitable friends. They have a contempt for dry places,
water being their element. Proceeding to the house, we are welcomed in
the warmest possible manner by our host and his ever busy and pleasant
daughter Nora. We are installed as a part of the family, for we have
been there before--we are not strangers. Nora and her sable assistants
had prepared an abundant and inviting meal for us, and we enjoyed it
with an appetite quickened by the sail across the Sound.