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filling up with water during a rainstorm. André had rearranged things; flipping the tiny boat over and fastening it to the roof, he could sleep in the tiny boat and not have to worry about falling off the roof. He slept with his mouth open and his arms wrapped around his head. The rest of the students were scattered about the deck. Some were lying flat on the deck with their shirts open and their hard hats covering their faces. Others sat astern with their backs against the cabin wall. Several of the boys were up front, sitting in the shade of the cabin and enjoying the cool breeze the Madeleine made as she cut through the waves.
    Henri Morin had been sitting at the stern when they left the bay. Later, he had traded places with François and sat at the bow, against the cabin wall, with his knees tucked up, his chin resting on his knees and his mackinaw draped over his shoulders. He tried to sleep but the noise of the engine travelled through the bones of his knees and his chin, and inside his head. It was no use. Three miles out from Lost Cabin Bay, he edged his way towards the door of the cabin, holding on to the rack on the roof. He went inside then and sat down on an overturned wooden box that had contained the dozens of crochets used by the students.
    It was cool in the cabin. Alphonse stood at the wheel, staring ahead through the tall narrow windows.
    â€œWant to take her?” he asked.
    â€œNo, not now,” Henri replied.
    â€œBe a couple more days in there.”
    â€œAnd after?”
    â€œPàgwàshka Bay, most likely. Maybe the islands.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œThere’s tea if you like.”
    Henri was shivering. He sat on the low wooden box with his heavy wool jacket buttoned up to the collar, his shoulders rounded up near his ears and his hands together between his knees.
    â€œGo on, Henri. I’ve had enough.”
    Henri unscrewed the plastic cup and placed it on the floor. He poured tea from the thermos. There was steam rising from the cup. He took a drink and then began to roll a cigarette.
    â€œHow long at Pàgwàshka?” he asked.
    â€œDepends. Could be three, four days. Maybe a week.”
    â€œThat long, eh?”
    â€œWe’ll have to finish up here first.”
    â€œI’m sick of them, you know. Those damned brûlots , they’re everywhere.”
    â€œThere’s always a good breeze at Pàgwàshka.”
    â€œAlways?”
    â€œOh yes. You can be sure of that. Here Henri, take her for a while. Just keep her straight for the point there.”
    Alphonse went astern to see how things were and to check the knot of yellow rope at the tow post and the towrope between the Madeleine and the two drive boats. He went there to stare at the westerly shore, to see how the sun made the trees look like silver slivers growing out from the water, to smoke a cigarette, and to feel the sun and the wind on his face.
    There was only a strong breeze and the whitecaps seemed to disappear almost as quickly as they came. Henri corrected now and then, sighting over the anchor to keep her straight.
    The shivering came in waves. The cotton shirt scraped at his chest. He had been so stupid. Alphonse had warned him about it. He had been working in the water with his shirt off since lunchtime. When they had stopped for a break and sat in the drive boats smoking cigarettes, Alphonse had spoken to him about it. He told him that he had better put on his shirt and that, if he wanted to, he might work from one of the drive boats or from the stern of the Madeleine . After the break he had gone aboard the Madeleine and put his shirt on. It was only then that he could see the pink colour of his chest and how, whenever he touched it, his fingers left white marks that just as quickly turned to pink again.
    Henri looked out through the window, along the thick cable to the anchor and, above it, to the point up ahead. He unbuttoned his jacket and then his shirt. In the