IN THE TREASURE HOUSE The canoes and tender kept husking up and down among the Shallows, finding nothing.

At last one morning they pushed out from the side of the Bridgwater Merchant, more limp than ever.

The stroke of the oars was listless, but a Boston sailor of a merry sort came to a cheery song: "I knows a town, an' it's a fine town, And many a brig goes sailin' to its quay; I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn, An' a lass that's fair to see.
I knows a town, an' it's a fine town; I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn But O my lass! an' O the gay gown, Which I have seen my pretty in! "I knows a port, an' it's a good port, An' many a brig is ridin' easy there; I knows a home, an' it's a good home, An' a lass that's sweet an' fair.
I knows a port, an' it's a good port, I knows a home, an' it's a good home But O the pretty that is my sort, That's wearyin' till I come! "I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, The day a sailor man comes back to town.
I knows a tide, an' it's a good tide, The tide that gets you quick to anchors down.
I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, I knows a tide, an' its' a good tide And God help the lubber, I say, That's stole the sailor man's bride!" The song had its way with them and they joined in and lay to their oars with almost too much goodwill.

Gering, his arms upon the side of the canoe, was looking into the water idly.

It was clear far down, and presently he saw what seemed a feather growing out of the side of a rock.