Forester and Marco did not take breakfast on board the steamboat, but waited until they got on shore. They had inquired of a fellow-passenger, who seemed acquainted with the country, and were told that there was a very good tavern about a quarter of a mile from the mill.

When they landed upon the logs, Marco, whose curiosity seemed to be stronger than his appetite, wanted to ramble about for a little time along the shore and among the piles of boards, but Forester thought it would be best first to go and get their breakfast.

"Because," said he, "we can then amuse ourselves by rambling about here, and shall be ready to return to the steamboat whenever they send for us."

So they went to the tavern.

Forester seemed to have little appetite for his breakfast. He complained of feeling fatigued, and yet he had nothing to fatigue him. Marco ate, and talked fast all the time; but Forester seemed silent and dejected.

"Come, cousin Forester, what is the matter with you?" said Marco at last.

Forester said that he felt somewhat unwell, and as there was a sofa in the room, he concluded to lie down upon it, and not go out. Marco was, at first, disposed to stay and take care of him, but Forester said that he did not need anything, and he wished Marco to go out and amuse himself.

"You may go and see the mill," said he, "and the logs along the shore; only be careful not to go where there is any danger; and come and let me know when the boat is coming from the steamer to take us on board again."

So Marco left Forester upon the sofa, and went away. He was sorry that he was sick, and he was particularly sorry that he had to go himself without company. But, concluding that he would adopt Forester's principle of making the best of everything, in the events which occur in travelling, he walked along the road, singing a tune which he had learned at a juvenile singing school in New York, and watching the pulsations of the steam, as it issued from the pipe at the mill.

As Marco walked along, it occurred to him that he had not, after all, succeeded in acknowledging to the captain of the steamboat that he had lost the bucket. And, since the first occasion for doing so had gone by, he began to doubt whether it would be best for him to trouble himself any farther about it.

"The bucket was not worth much," said he to himself. "Nobody knows it is lost, except that boy, and he will not tell. I've a great mind not to say anything about it."

In fact, Marco found that he was much less inclined to make his acknowledgment now, than he was when the circumstance first occurred. He wished that he had at once stated the facts to Forester, which would have been his wisest course; but now, that the first occasion for doing so had passed away, he began to feel disinclined to do it at all.

Marco soon reached the mill, and he amused himself, for half an hour, in watching the movement of the engine, the strokes of the saw, and the drawing up of the logs from the water to the floor of the mill. There was a steep, sloping platform from the mill down to the river, and a long chain extended down to the water. This chain was fastened to one end of one of the logs, which lay floating there, and then, by means of the machinery, it was drawn slowly up, bringing the ponderous log with it.

The way in which the machinery drew up the chain was this: The end of the chain, which was within the mill, was wound around an axle, which was made to revolve by the machinery. The axle, thus revolving, wound up the chain, and, in this manner, drew it gradually in, by which means the log, which was attached to the lower end of it, was drawn up.

Presently, Marco's attention was attracted towards some men, who seemed to be sailing about upon some logs, in a cove, just below the mill. He went down immediately to see what they were doing. They had long poles in their hands, with iron points in the ends of them, and were pushing the logs about with these poles, to choose out such as they wished to saw in the mill.

Just as Marco came down, one of the men stepped upon the end of a log which was floating very near him. The log sank a little, but not much, under him, and the man walked along towards the other end of it. Marco wondered how he could keep his balance.

When the millman reached the farther end of the log, he extended his long pole very dexterously, and struck the point of it into the corner of a sort of wharf, which was built upon the bank; and then, pulling gently, he drew himself along, together with the log upon which he was floating. Marco was surprised at this, and he wondered that the man did not fall off the log. He thought that if the log were to roll in the least degree, the man would be rolled off into the water. He ran down to the little wharf, so that he could see better.

"Well, my boy," said the millman, "do you belong on board the steamboat?"

"Yes, sir," said Marco; "we got aground. You'll fall off of that log if you don't take care."

"No," said the millman, "there's no danger."

"Why, if the log should roll the least atom, away you'd go," said Marco, "though the water is not very deep."

Here the man began to step upon the log in a peculiar manner, so as to make it roll. It rolled slowly, but the man continued stepping until he had rolled it completely over. The side which had been under water appeared of a dark color, and was very slippery, being covered with a sort of slime; but the man did not slip. After he had thus rolled the log completely over, he looked up to Marco, and said,

"There, you see that there is no danger."

When the man had drawn this log up to the shore, he went for another; and he had to sail upon this second one a long distance, in bringing it to its place. He pushed himself along by running his pole down to the bottom, and pushing against the sand.

"Could I sail upon a log?" asked Marco.

"No," replied the millman; "you'd roll off."

"How did you learn to do it?" asked Marco.

"Oh, I learned when I was a boy," replied the millman.

"Did you roll off when you were learning?" asked Marco.

"Yes," said the man. "I've been off the log into the water many a time."

"And how did you get out again?" said Marco.

"Oh, I could swim," he replied; "and as soon as I came up, I would paddle back to the log, and climb up upon it. Once, however, I came very near being drowned."

"How was it?" said Marco.

"Why, I was on the upper side of a boom"–

"A boom?" said Marco, "what is that?"

"A boom!" repeated the millman; "don't you know what a boom is? It is a place to catch logs. They go to some cove or eddy, where the water is pretty still, and chain logs together, end to end, so as to form a long line on the lower side of the eddy, and then along up the middle of the river a little way, so as to enclose a space to catch the logs."

"What do they fasten the boom to?" asked Marco.

"Why, the lower end," said the millman, "is fastened to the shore, by means of a very strong post, or an iron staple set into the rocks. The other end, which is out in the middle of the stream, is fastened to some island, if there is one, or, if not, to a pier built up from the bottom."

"Well," said Marco, "tell on about your getting in."

"The boom was full of logs, and I was upon the upper side of it, at work with some other men. I was on a log trying to find the mark, and I fell in."

"What made you fall off?" asked Marco.

"I don't know," replied the millman. "I was not much use to logs then. I was trying to find the mark."

"What mark?" asked Marco.

"The owner's mark," said the millman. "The owners all mark their logs, when they get them out in the winter, and then we separate or sort them in the booms. Sometimes the mark is on the under side of the log, and so we have to turn it over in the water to find it."

While all this conversation had been going on, the millman had been moving about over the water with the various logs, Marco accompanying him, and keeping as near to him as possible, walking along the shore, and sometimes on the logs which were resting by one end on the shore. As the millman was describing the system of marking the logs, he was sailing along very near to Marco, and he immediately began to turn the log over under him, saying—

"For instance, look here, and see me turn up the mark of this log."

Marco watched the log, as it slowly revolved, until presently there came a sort of hieroglyphical mark upon one end, made by crosses and lines cut into the wood.

"Every owner has his particular mark," said the millman.

"Whose mark is that?" asked Marco.

"I don't know," said the man, "but they know at the mill. They have a register of them all at the mill."

"I wish I could turn over a log, standing on it, in that way," said Marco.

"You couldn't," said the millman. "The only way by which you can sail safely on logs, would be to put two together, and make a sort of raft."

"How?" asked Marco.

"By nailing short pieces of boards across from one log to another. Then they would not roll."

"Well," said Marco, "if I could only get a hammer and some nails."

The millman told him that perhaps they would let him have a hammer and some nails at the mill; and Marco, accordingly, went up to inquire. They told him they had a hammer, but they had no nails to spare. So Marco failed of getting the means of making a raft. He forgot to go back to the millman to get the rest of his story, but, instead of it, he rambled down the bank of the river, until he came to a place where there was an old fence, which had fallen down, and the nails were sticking out of the boards. He now wished that he had borrowed the hammer at the mill, and he tried to persuade a boy, who was standing there, to go and borrow it for him.

The boy told him that a stone would do very well for a hammer.

"So it will," said Marco; "find me a good one, and bring it to this old fence."

The boy brought Marco a stone, and Marco began to knock out the nails. Very soon, however, he set the boy at work upon the nails, while he went in pursuit of some short boards, to nail across from one log to the other. He found some, which he thought would answer, without much difficulty, and collected them together near the logs; and, soon afterwards, the boy brought him the nails.

The logs were lying side by side, with two ends resting upon the shore, the two other ends being out towards the stream. Marco concluded to nail first the two ends which were towards the shore, they being nearest, and being also more steady than the others. He accordingly laid one of his short pieces across, and nailed it as well as he could, using the stone for a hammer.

"Now," said he to the boy, "I'll put another board across at the middle, and one more at the other end, and then, if I can find something for a pole, I'll take a little sail. Look about a little, my boy, won't you," continued he, "and see if you can't find a pole, while I am nailing the other boards."

The boy accordingly went away in pursuit of a pole, while Marco nailed first the middle board, and then the end one. He came back just after Marco had got the first nail of the end board driven in, and as soon as he came in sight of the logs and of Marco, he exclaimed—

"You're adrift! you're adrift!"

Marco got up immediately, and looked around. He was indeed adrift. His weight, pressing upon the outer ends of the logs, had lifted the other ends off the shore, and the raft was slowly floating up the stream. The reason why it floated up was, that there was at this place what they call an eddy, which is a current near the shore, flowing up the stream. Such eddies are caused, generally, by curves in the banks.

As soon as Marco perceived that he was afloat, he said—

"Throw me the pole."

The boy threw the pole, and it just reached the raft. Marco took it in, and, thrusting the end hastily down into the water, he endeavored to push himself back by pushing against the bottom. But it was too late. He had got already into such deep water that he could scarcely reach the bottom, and he could not push the raft back.

In the mean time, the raft slowly moved up the river.

"Never mind," said Marco. "I'm going right for the mill, and when I get there, they'll come out for me in a boat. In the mean time, I'd better finish my raft."

So saying, he kneeled down and finished nailing on the last board. When he rose again, he found that he had advanced considerably, and the boy had accompanied him, walking along by the shore. He perceived, however, that he was gradually getting away from the shore, and, looking forward, he saw, to his consternation, that the eddy did not extend to the mill; but that, at a short distance above him, it swept out into the main current of the river, which was running by a point of land at the upper part of the eddy, with great speed. The raft advanced slowly till it came to this current, when it turned around, and began to glide swiftly down the stream.

"Boy," cried Marco, in great distress, "run to the mill as fast as you can go, and tell them that I have gone down the river, adrift. Tell them to send a boat after me as quick as they can. My cousin Forester will pay them well."

So the boy ran off towards the mill, while Marco floated away helplessly down the current.

CHAPTER IV.
THE DESERT ISLAND

After Marco had sailed on for a few minutes, he cast his eyes up the river, and saw the steamboat. She was still lying in an inclined position, as she had been left grounded by the tide. He shouted and waved his hat, in the endeavor to attract the attention of the people on board, and lead them to send a boat to rescue him. But all his efforts were vain. He could not make them hear.

The current soon bore him beyond a point of land which hid the steamboat from his view, and he began to fear that he should be actually carried out to sea. He was calculating, in fact, how many miles it was to the mouth of the river, when it suddenly occurred to him that, though he could not push with his pole, he might perhaps paddle with it. He accordingly took up the pole, which he had laid down upon the raft, and began to use it as a paddle.

Marco found, to his great relief, that he could produce considerable effect upon his raft by using his pole as a paddle. He contrived to get the head of his raft round towards the shore, and, by working hard, he succeeded in urging it along through the current, very slowly, indeed, but still perceptibly, so that he began to have some hope that he might succeed in reaching land.

Before he had made much progress, however, he suddenly saw before him, at a short distance, a little rocky island, with some grass and a few trees on the lower end of it. The island was very small, being not much longer than Marco's raft. It lay almost directly in his course—so nearly, that he perceived that by working a little more with his pole, he thought he could bring himself into such a position as to be thrown by the current directly upon it.

This he did. He paddled, with all his strength, to get into a line with the upper end of the island, the current, all the time, bearing him down directly towards it. In a few minutes, he had the satisfaction of seeing that he was going directly upon it.

"All right," said he to himself; "now I'm safe."

As he said these words, the end of the raft struck the rock, and he leaped off upon it. The raft swung round, and was going away, but Marco seized it, and dragged it up a little way upon the shore, so as to secure it. He then sat down upon the rock, and began to consider what was next to be done.

He was certainly at a loss to know what was to be done. He waited an hour, and then, getting very tired of his situation, he began to consider whether it would not be best for him to entrust himself once more to his raft, and endeavor to get to the shore by means of his paddle.

While he was sitting on a point of the rock, in this perplexity, looking towards the shore that was nearest to him, he suddenly saw a boy coming upon a horse, along a winding road, which led to the river. He was driving the horse down to water. The horse advanced to the brink of the river, when Marco began to call out in his loudest voice,

"Halloo!"

"Halloo!" answered the boy.

"Can't you get a boat, and come and take me off this island?" cried Marco.

The boy paused a moment, and gazed earnestly at Marco, while the horse continued drinking.

"How came you on that island?" said the boy, calling out again in a loud voice.

"I got adrift on some logs," said Marco, "and floated down the river. Can't you get a boat, and come and take me off?"

"I have not got any boat," said the boy. "There an't any boats about here."

"I wish you would go and get one," said Marco. "I'll pay you well for it."

The boy did not answer. He seemed to be hesitating. In the mean time, the horse, having nearly finished his drinking, lifted up his head and looked at Marco.

"There is not any boat within a mile," said the boy. "But I should think you might wade ashore. The water is not deep between here and the island."

"Then wade out here with your horse," said Marco, "and take me on behind you."

The boy hesitated a moment, but he finally decided to comply with Marco's proposal, and accordingly began to advance his horse into the water. Marco watched his progress with intense interest. As the water grew deeper, he began to fear that the boy would get discouraged, and turn back. But the boy kept on. He turned his steps somewhat below the island, where there was an extensive shoal; the water grew shallower and shallower, until at last the horse emerged entirely, and stood upon a little dry sand bank at the lower side of the island.

"I'm very much obliged to you, indeed," said Marco, "for coming for me—besides the pay. I will pay you for it as soon as we get on shore."

"Oh, no," said the boy, "I don't need any pay just for wading my horse out here. I wade him out here very often, when I come down to water; that is, in the summer, when the water is low."

Marco mounted behind the boy, and the boy turned his horse's head towards the shore.

"How far is it back to the mill?" asked Marco.

"To the steam mill?—four miles," answered the boy.

"Four miles!" exclaimed Marco; "is it possible that I have floated down four miles? How shall I ever get back again?"

"How did you happen to get adrift?" asked the boy.

Marco proceeded to give the boy an account of his getting adrift, but in a short time the water began to grow so deep that he was afraid. The boy, however, told him that there was no danger. The bottom of the river, at this place, was a great bed of pebble stones, and the current ran very swiftly over them, and curled in sharp ripples about the horse's legs. Presently, however, the water became more shallow, and they soon safely reached the shore.

"Now," said Marco, "I want to get back to the mill just as quick as I can—before the steamboat goes."

"The steamboat?" said the boy, "she has gone long ago. She went by early this morning."

"Yes," said Marco, "she went by here, but she got stopped."

So Marco told the boy the story of their having got aground, and of his going ashore; and of all his adventures, in fact, down to the time of his being cast upon the desert island. The boy told him that he had better make haste; "for," said he, "the tide has risen a great deal already. When the tide is at the lowest, we can go out to that island almost on bare ground."

"But I can't walk back four miles," said Marco. "Could you not carry me in a wagon?" he continued.

"We have got a wagon," said the boy, "if my father will let me go."

"Let us go right up and ask him," said Marco

They accordingly began to advance up the road, the boy putting his horse to a rapid trot. Marco, who was not accustomed to riding in this style—behind another boy, and without a saddle—was much jolted, and, in fact, he found it very difficult to keep his seat. He began to feel so much anxiety, however, about getting back again, that he did not complain. In a short time, the boy reached the house. It was a small, plain farm-house. There was a shed at one side of it, with a wagon standing in the shed—the shafts resting upon a wood-pile.

"My father is not at home, now," said the boy, "but he will be at home very soon."

"Oh, don't let us wait for him," rejoined Marco. "He'll be willing to have you go, I know."

"No," said the boy, "I should not dare to go without his leave."

"Let us harness the horse into the wagon, then, at any rate," said Marco, "and then we shall be all ready."

"We can do that," said the boy.

So they harnessed the horse into the wagon, and the boy led the horse around to the door. Marco, who was quite impatient to go, got into the wagon, and sat waiting. The man came in about twenty minutes, and when he heard a statement of the case, he said that his boy might go and take Marco back to the mill.

It was now so late that Marco began to be seriously afraid that the steamboat might have gone. He was very impatient to have the horse go as fast as possible; and he watched at every turn in the road which gave him a view of the river, hoping to get a glimpse at the boat. He wondered whether Forester was still at the tavern, or whether he had come out in pursuit of him. After wearying himself with conjectures, which were all in vain, he suddenly came to a view of the river opposite the mill. The steamboat, to his great joy, was in its place; but there was a black column of smoke issuing from the smoke-pipe.

"They are firing up," said Marco, "I verily believe."

"What do you mean by that?" said the boy.

"Why, building up the fires," said Marco, "to set the engine a-going. They call it firing up."

Just at this moment there broke forth a loud and hoarse hissing from the steam-pipe, and a dense column of white vapor began to ascend, which mingled its snowy volumes, in a beautiful manner, with the dark masses of the smoke.

"They are blowing off the steam," said Marco.

"What does that mean?" asked the boy.

"Why, that they have got the steam up, and are letting off a little of it, while they are waiting for something. Perhaps they are waiting for us. Drive on as fast as you can."

A moment after this, the sound of the steam suddenly ceased, and the great paddle wheels, on the sides of the boat, began slowly to revolve.

"They are trying to get her off," said Marco. "I do hope they can't start her. Drive on; drive on as fast as you can."

They were, at this time, upon the top of a hill which commanded a fine view of the river, and of the scenery upon its banks. The mill was before them, too, in full view. But Marco was too much engaged in watching the movements of the boat to regard the scenery. The boy drove rapidly down the hill. They reached the mill in a very few minutes, and drove down to the bank of the river, by a road which led to the water, a short distance above the mill. But, in the mean time, unfortunately for Marco, the steamboat had regained its liberty, and when Marco and the boy came in view of it again, as their horse stopped at the edge of the water, they saw, to Marco's dismay, that she was ploughing her way swiftly up the river, being just about to disappear behind a point of land which terminated the view of the water in that direction.

"They are gone," said Marco, in a tone of despair, "they are gone; and what shall I do?"

"Can't you go in the stage?" asked the boy, hoping thus to say a word of encouragement and consolation.

"No," said Marco, "I don't believe there is any stage from this old mill. Besides, I don't know where to go. I should not have thought that Forester would have gone off and left me."

"Was he on board the steamboat?" asked the boy.

"Yes," said Marco—"that is, he was to go on board—but I left him at the tavern."

"Perhaps he is there now," said the boy. "Let us go and see."

Marco approved of this plan, and they turned the wagon, and rode towards the tavern. As soon as the horse stopped in the yard, Marco leaped out of the wagon, and ran in. He found Forester reclining upon the sofa, where Marco had left him, asleep.

Marco advanced towards him, and took him by the shoulder, roughly, to wake him up, saying,

"Forester! cousin Forester! wake up! the boat has gone."

Forester opened his eyes—looked wildly at Marco, and then put his hands to his head, pressing his temples with the palms, but he did not speak.

"The boat has gone, cousin Forester," continued Marco.

"Then what good does it do to wake me up so roughly?" asked Forester.

"Why—I—thought you'd want to know it," said Marco; "but why did not you come down?"

"Because," said Forester, "you were to come and tell me, I thought, when they were ready to go."

Marco had no reply to make to this suggestion, and he was silent. He found, afterwards, on farther conversation with Forester, that he was quite unwell. His head ached, and his face was flushed, as if he was feverish. Marco related to Forester an account of his adventures on the raft of logs. Forester thought that he had had a very narrow escape.

Marco expected that Forester would have rebuked him very sharply for his fault in going upon the logs at all. But he did not. After Marco had got through with his account, Forester only said,

"Well, Marco, you evidently did wrong in getting upon the logs at all; but the evil consequences to you will be punishment enough, and, in fact, more than enough."

"Evil consequences?" said Marco—"no; there are no evil consequences, only that we have got left behind."

"I don't regard that," said Forester, "for I am too unwell to travel to-day; but then you have suffered considerable pain and anxiety already, and, besides, there will be some money to pay."

"What for?" said Marco.

"Why, you have got to pay the boy for bringing you home," replied Forester.

"Must I pay him," said Marco, "out of my own money?"

"Who do you think ought to pay him?" said Forester.

"Why, I ought to, I suppose," said Marco. "But it won't be much. I think a quarter of a dollar will be enough."

"Then, did not you say that you sent to the mill to have somebody go down after you in a boat?" asked Forester.

"Yes," said Marco, "but I don't think they went."

"You had better go to the mill and see," said Forester.

So Marco went out and paid the boy a quarter of a dollar, with which he seemed to be satisfied. Then he went to the mill, and he found two men just returning, in a boat, from a long pull down the river in pursuit of him. Marco paid them half a dollar. Thus his loss was three quarters of a dollar.

When he returned to the tavern, he found that Forester had taken some medicine, and had gone to bed. Forester told him that he must amuse himself the best way he could, and that, after the experience that he had had that day, he hoped he would be careful not to put himself any more into dangerous situations.