“Those stores there and whatever your brothers bring down will be the last of it. Bottom of the incoming in …” Cyrus withdrew from the pocket of his canvas trousers the tarnished watch he’d used to time his logs when he was wrecking in the Florida Keys. “About an hour.” A quick glance seaward, as if he did not entirely trust the timepiece and was compelled to check the tide to verify that it and the instrument were in agreement.

“We should catch the start of the ebb,” said Nathaniel, “Need some wind, though.”

“Wind there’ll be,” the father forecast, and with such confidence that the son expected the first puff to spring up that very moment.

“Eliot and I were talking. We seem to be taking a lot more than usual.” Nathaniel motioned at the crate. “Enough to last the four of us a lot longer than a week or ten days.”

“That’s what you figure, is it?” his father said, and then nothing more. He stood sidelit by the sun, legs spread, hands under his braces and resting on his chest.

“Mind me asking if you’re planning a longer cruise than usual?”

“And if I am?”

Nathaniel rose on tiptoe and, ignoring the ladder, threw his forearms onto the dock and heaved himself back up in a single, fluid movement.

“With Mother not feeling well, we thought …”

“Your mother’s fine.”

“Yes, sir. But she’s been gone two weeks.”

“Told you and your brothers that I got a wire from Dr. Matthews, didn’t I? Nothing serious.”

“So we’ll be cruising longer than a week, then? That’s all right with us.”

“It’s all right with you three,” said Cyrus, with a derisive huff. “It had better be all right. I’m going to get Eliot and Drew to shake a leg. Sure you’ve got all your personals?”

“Yes. How about your seabag? I could bring it down for you.”

“Won’t be necessary, Nat.”