Thoreau writes in his journal:
Up river . . . There [were] only four eggs in this nest yesterday, and to-day, to C.’s [William Ellery Channing] surprise, there are the two eggs which he left and a young peetweet beside . . . It suddenly began to rain with great violence, and we in haste drew up our boat on the Clamshell shore, upset it, and got under, sitting on the paddles, and so were quite dry while our friends thought we were being wet to our skins . . .
