Read Cottage Daze for Free Online Page A

decided that, although this technique works in the bathtub with my toy battleships or yellow ducky, it was not likely to work here in this big lake with a sixteen-foot runabout.
    I used to be pretty good with a lariat in my horseman days, but the only rope I had of any length was stowed neatly in the boat’s storage locker. What to do? The breeze seemed to be picking up, ruffling the water and pushing the boat away. I didn’t even have my swim shorts with me. I looked around: nobody was there, no one was around to bear witness to my foolhardiness. In that respect, at least, it was my lucky day. I removed my shoes, rolled up my jeans, and stepped gingerly into the lake.
    I thought if I were able to walk out to my knees and then stretch my arms fully, I might just be able to reach. I sloshed out deeper, but the boat seemed to be drifting away at the same speed. I was past my knees, then the cold water was cooling my tender regions, causing me to walk on tiptoes. Soon I was swimming, doing the breast stroke until I reached a dragging boat line. I turned and towed the boat towards shore.
    I remembered the time when I had been so excited, and in such a rush to get over to our island cottage, that I had arrived at the launch and backed the boat in, forgetting to put the plug in the vessel. I backed it down into the water, unhooked it, got it started, and ran it over to the dock to load our gear and provisions. An old-timer standing there with a fishing line in the water, barely giving me any notice, mumbled almost incoherently, “Yer boat seems to be ridin’ low, young fella.” A pause to spit some tobacco. “Appears to be sinking — sure you ’membered the plug?”
    As I swam, fully clothed, for shore, I consoled myself with the fact that at least this time, my act of stupidity had gone unseen. Too soon, as it turned out. I was halfway back, stretching my toes to feel the bottom, when I heard an approaching truck. I panicked and swam hard. Unfortunately, tugging a boat along slows you down. I was still a ways out when the vehicle came into view. I froze and dropped low in the water: “Please don’t look this way.”
    A sister’s boat is asking to be hijacked.
    My heart sank. It was the Brat and his grandpa, the same grandpa we had rented a boat from when our boat had broken down in the middle of the lake. It was the same precocious youngster who had called me a dummy, who had said that I didn’t know what I was doing when it came to boats.
    The truck stopped and their heads slowly, and in unison, turned my way. Realizing that hiding was futile, I gave them a little wave, like I take my boat for a swim everyday.
    â€œGrandpa, what’s that dummy doing now?” I heard the Brat’s voice through the truck’s open window.
    â€œHush,” said Grandpa. And then he yelled out the window to me, “Need a hand?”
    â€œNo. No, I’m good. Just checking for leaks,” I tried, knowing all too well that by evening, at the latest, my folly would be common knowledge around the lake.
    â€œGrandpa?”
    â€œHush,” he said again, and they drove on.
    The Robin
    Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore. While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my cottage door.
    I heard the tapping, but could not immediately place the noise. It sounded like one of the kids playing a joke, tapping on the cabin door and interrupting my work. I yelled for quiet, but then realized I was being dim-witted: I was at the cottage myself this time. Still, my bellow had the desired effect and the outside world was once again peaceful.
    I peered out the big dining room window at the front porch of the cabin, but seeing nothing I returned to my work. Before too long, the noise started up again, tap, tap, tap.
    I got up from the table and looked out