“Tallow,” says Mark, “have you got the n-n-nerve to swim this lake in the dark?”

“I’d do it in daytime,” says I. “It can’t be half a mile across, and I could make that like rollin’ off a log. But night’s a different thing.”

I went out and took a look at the lake. It began to look wider to me. That’s always the way with things. If you’re not going to jump across a hole the hole don’t look wide, but just you step up to it ready to jump and it seems to stretch out about twice as big as it was before.

“If I could only have some kind of a mark to steer by—a light or somethin’.”

“There’s that big h-hemlock,” says Mark, pointing. “That will s-s-stick up against the sky, and you could head for it.”

“Well,” says I, “I’ll try it, but I’d rather go to an ice-cream festival. It’ll be pretty chilly.”

“We’ll rub lard on you,” says Mark.

“Rather have it in pie crust,” I says, for the idea of being greased up from top to toe didn’t set well on my stomach.

“I’ve been t-thinkin’ things over,” says Mark, “and it looks to me like it was our duty to try to get this letter sent to the Japanese minister.”

“It’s a shame,” says I, “that there ain’t more swimmers in this crowd. I’ll turn into a fish.”

“You’d better start about an hour before s-s-sun-up,” says Mark. “That will get you safe to shore before daylight. Then strike for the road and wait for s-s-somebody to come along. Give ’em the letter to mail.”

“Sure,” says I, “and what about comin’ back?”

“Better get back as soon’s you can. They’re l-likely to make some kind of an attack.”

“All right,” says I, “but I calc’late I’ll want to lay around a spell in the sun and rest up.”

“Take some t-t-towels with you,” says Mark.

“What for? Be as wet as I would.”

“Shucks! Use your head. D-d-didn’t expect to carry ’em in your mouth, did you? No. Well, just put ’em in a dishpan and float ’em ahead of you. Then you can rub yourself hard and get up circulation. Get you warm in a jiffy.”

“Put in my shoes, too,” says I. “Climbin’ over the rocks ain’t good for bare feet.”

We didn’t see a Japanese before I went to bed, which was pretty early, because I wanted to get in a good sleep. I got it, too. Shouldn’t wonder if I’m close to being the world’s prize sleeper. Anyhow, I come next to Mark. But he can wake up when he wants to. I never wake up till somebody gets rough with me.

Mark did just that—got rough with me—about three o’clock in the morning, and I turned out in the chilliest morning air you ever felt. It seemed like it would frost-bite you as fast as you got out from under the covers into it. Honest, it was just like sticking your feet into ice-water to shove them out of bed. Right there I lost my ambition to go swimming.

“I guess,” says I, “that I’ve done about all the letter-writin’ to the Japanese minister that I need to. I don’t owe him any letter.”

“’Tis chilly,” says Mark, and he grinned and sort of wriggled all over like he enjoyed something.

“I wish it was you goin’,” says I. “Maybe you wouldn’t giggle so hard.”

“Water’ll be warmer t-t-than the air,” says he.

“It could do that and still freeze you to death,” I says, as cross as two sticks. “Gimme the letter.”

I wrapped a blanket around me to keep me alive till I got to the water. Mark had the dishpan all ready with the towels and my shoes tied into it, and the letter under them.

“Now,” says he, “git off the end of the island and s-s-slide in cautious. Likely we’re bein’ watched every second.”

I went off alone into the dark and for once I wished I’d never seen Mark Tidd. I wished he hadn’t moved to Wicksville, and I wished he wasn’t fat, and I wished he didn’t stutter. I just wished he wasn’t at all. But when I got into the water I felt better. It was surprising how warm and comfortable the water was, after the air. I swam easy and slow till I could get my bearings. It was pretty dark, but not so dark but what I could see the black shape of the old hemlock against the sky. When I had it located I laid low and steered for it.

It was a good long swim, but I had swum distances enough to know better than to tire myself out at the start. I just mogged along, stopping to float every once in a while, and before I knew it I was across. It hadn’t been anything. The worst part was the lonesomeness of it and the thought that came a couple of times; what would I do if I got cramps? Ugh!

But I didn’t. I made it—and then had to get out into that air again. Wow! Cold? It was as cold as Greenland multiplied by Iceland, with Hudson’s Bay thrown in to fill the basket.

You better guess that I grabbed those towels and began to rub myself. I rubbed and scrubbed till the skin was ready to come off like the peel of an orange. But it did warm me just like Mark said it would. After I was tired rubbing I picked out an open space and capered up and down in it. I expect I looked like a luny there in the woods without anything on but a towel tied around the middle of me, and me doing some sort of wild Injun dance all by myself. I almost had to laugh.

Pretty soon it began to grow light and I made for the road, going pretty careful. There was no telling where those Japanese might be. It was lucky I did go careful, too, for I hadn’t gone a quarter of a mile before I smelled smoke and in a minute saw the glow of a fire.

Right there I stopped navigation. When I went ahead again it was at quarter speed with my hand on the throttle. You’ve heard about Injuns and how still they can go through the woods. Well, that morning I beat any Injun Cooper ever read about. I made so little noise that the woods were stiller than if I hadn’t been there at all.

The fire was down in a little hollow. I skirted around it, but near enough so I could see who was camping there. It was two Japanese, one asleep, the other watching. I laughed inside. He wasn’t doing as good a job of watching as he thought he was. I could have plunked him with my slingshot, and I had half a mind to do it. But common sense came al............