I was surprised that a canoe should pass the island at that time
of night, for all the summer visitors from the other side of the
lake had gone home weeks before, and the island was a long way out
of any line of water traffic.
My reading from this moment did not make very good progress, for
somehow the picture of that canoe, gliding so dimly and swiftly
across the narrow track of light on the black waters, silhouetted
itself against the background of my mind with singular vividness.
It kept coming between my eyes and the printed page. The more I
thought about it the more surprised I became. It was of larger
build than any I had seen during the past summer months, and was
more like the old Indian war canoes with the high curving bows and
stern and wide beam. The more I tried to
