I guess it was just kind of caught in the mud and weeds for after I pulled some of these away a lot of bubbles came up, and then I got hold of one end of the thing and it stuck up slantingways out of the water like an alligator’s mouth.  Oh, gee, it was all slimy and had moss growing to it and it was black and hard.  I was crazy to find out what it was and I swam around the end of it, bobbing it up and down.  Then I sat on it and rocked it and it joggled.  When I straddled it, it went down with me and when I jerked it, it seemed to get loose a little.  The end that was sticking up wasn’t very big around, only it was terribly slippery.  Anyway, I sat on it and tightened my legs around it just like a fellow does with a balky horse, and then I began jouncing up and down like on a seesaw.

Pretty soon the other end came up and, oh, boy, didn’t I get dumped off into the water.  It looked like a slimy old log floating.  I gave it a turn and then—­g—­o—­o—­d night—­what do you think it was?  It was a regular Indian dug-out.

I guess maybe it was a hundred years old and you can see it now, if you ever come to Bridgeboro, because it’s in the Museum of our Public Library and you’ll know it because it’s got “Presented by 1st Bridgeboro Troop, B. S. A.,” on it.  I guess maybe it was about fifteen feet long and as soon as I cut into it with my scout knife, I saw that it was made of cedar and it wasn’t rotten—­not so much, anyway.  Jiminies, that’s one good thing about cedar; it lasts forever under water.

Oh, boy, wasn’t I excited.  I swam around it washing it off with my scout jacket, then I bailed the little dug out part out with my scout hat.  It wasn’t so black when I got it all cleaned off.  It was kind of chocolate color and I knew it must be very old, because cedar turns that color after a long time.  You learn that in Woodcraft.  It was all made out of one piece and the place where you sit was just hollowed out—­about big enough for one person.

Then I got inside and it was crankier than a racing shell.  You had to sit up straight like a little tin soldier to keep it from tipping—­it was one tippicanoe, you can bet.  I fell out and had to roll it over and bail it out two or three times.  At last I got the hang of it and I pushed it in the marshes a little way so it wouldn’t drift up stream.  There was a regular creek there now, good and wide and deep, and the water was coming up like a parade.

Then I pulled a lot of reeds and bound them together with swamp grass.  That was a funny kind of a paddle I guess, but it was better than nothing and anyway I decided to wait till the tide was at flood and then paddle back with it.  That would be a cinch.

So then I sat in the dug-out and just waited for the tide to come up.  The dug-out stayed where it was on account of being pushed in among the reeds and oh, jiminety, it was nice sitting there.  I thought maybe the creek would empty out again into Bridgeboro River and I could tie up there and, go home.  But I had a big surprise waiting for me, you can bet.