But to hunt on a dark night for a boy in a sea of mudwould be like hunting for a needle in a haystack， and hedid not attempt it. Instead he went back to the beach andprowled around for some time. I was hoping he wouldgive me up and go， for by this time I was suffering severelyfrom the cold. At last he waded out to his skiff and rowedaway. What if this departure of Yellow Handkerchief ’swere a sham？ What if he had done it merely to entice meashore？
The more I thought of it the more certain I becamethat he had made a little too much noise with his oarsas he rowed away. So I remained， lying in the mud andshivering. I shivered till the muscles of the small of myback ached and pained me as badly as the cold， and I hadneed of all my self-control to force myself to remain in mymiserable situation.
It was well that I did， however， for， possibly an hourlater， I thought I could make out something moving onthe beach. I watched intently， but my ears were rewardedfirst， by a raspy cough I knew only too well. YellowHandkerchief had sneaked back， landed on the other sideof the island， and crept around to surprise me if I hadreturned.
After that， though hours passed without sign of him，I was afraid to return to the island at all. On the otherhand， I was almost equally afraid that I should die of theexposure I was undergoing. I had never dreamed onecould suffer so. I grew so cold and numb， finally， that Iceased to shiver. But my muscles and bones began to achein a way that was agony. The tide had long since begun torise， and， foot by foot， it drove me in toward the beach.
High water came at three o’clock， and at three o’clock Idrew myself up on the beach， more dead than alive， andtoo helpless to have offered any resistance had YellowHandkerchief swooped down upon me.
But no Yellow Handkerchief appeared. He had given meup and gone back to Point Pedro. Nevertheless， I was ina deplorable， not to say dangerous， condition. I could notstand upon my feet， much less walk. My clammy， muddygarments clung to me like sheets of ice. I thought I shouldnever get them off. So numb and lifeless were my fingers，and so weak was I， that it seemed to take an hour to getoff my shoes. I had not the strength to break the porpoisehidelaces， and the knots defied me. I repeatedly beat myhands upon the rocks to get some sort of life into them.
Sometimes I felt sure I was going to die.
But in the end， —after several centuries， it seemed tome， —I got off the last of my clothes. The water was nowclose at hand， and I crawled painfully into it and washedthe mud from my naked body. Still， I could not get onmy feet and walk and I was afraid to lie still. Nothingremained but to crawl weakly， like a snail， and at the costof constant pain， up and down the sand. I kept this up aslong as possible， but as the east paled with the coming ofdawn I began to succumb. The sky grew rosy-red， and thegolden rim of the sun， showing above the horizon， foundme lying helpless and motionless among the clam-shells.
As in a dream， I saw the familiar mainsail of theReindeer as she slipped out of San Rafael Creek on a lightpuff of morning air. This dream was very much broken.
There are intervals I can never recollect on looking backover it. Three things， however， I distinctly remember： thefirst sight of the Reindeer’s mainsail； her lying at anchor afew hundred feet away and a small boat leaving her side；and the cabin stove roaring red-hot， myself swathed allover with blankets， except on the chest and shoulders，which Charley was pounding and mauling unmercifully，and my mouth and throat burning with the coffee whichNeil Partington was pouring down a trifle too hot.
But burn or no burn， I tell you it felt good. By the timewe arrived in Oakland I was as limber and strong asever， —though Charlie and Neil Partington were afraid Iwas going to have pneumonia， and Mrs. Partington， for myfirst six months of school， kept an anxious eye upon me todiscover the first symptoms of consumption.
Time flies. It seems but yesterday that I was a lad ofsixteen on the fish patrol. Yet I know that I arrived thisvery morning from China， with a quick passage to mycredit， and master of the barkentine Harvester. And Iknow that to-morrow morning I shall run over to Oaklandto see Neil Partington and his wife and family， and lateron up to Benicia to see Charley Le Grant and talk overold times. No； I shall not go to Benicia， now that Ithink about it. I expect to be a highly interested partyto a wedding， shortly to take place. Her name is AlicePartington， and， since Charley has promised to be bestman， he will have to come down to Oakland instead.
