He did not question or analyse his feelings; he launched his vessel, and left that hard and tyrannical land for the loveliness of the water.
Paddling out to the islands he passed through between them, and reached the open Lake.

There he hoisted the sail, the gentle breeze filled it, the sharp cutwater began to divide the ripples, a bubbling sound arose, and steering due north, straight out to the open and boundless expanse, he was carried swiftly away.
The mallards, who saw the canoe coming, at first scarcely moved, never thinking that a boat would venture outside the islands, within whose line they were accustomed to see vessels, but when the canoe continued to bear down upon them, they flew up and descended far away to one side.
When he had sailed past the spot where these birds had floated, the Lake was his own.

By the shores of the islands the crows came down for mussels.

Moorhens swam in and out among the rushes, water-rats nibbled at the flags, pikes basked at the edge of the weeds, summer-snipes ran along the sand, and doubtless an otter here and there was in concealment.

Without the line of the shoals and islets, now that the mallards had flown, there was a solitude of water.