But he sat idling his time, thinking of things.

All the charm of the adventure was gone.

He was sick of the canoe and of Barney Morony.
He did not care a straw for the seals or wild gulls.

The moaning of the ocean beneath the cliff was no longer pleasurable to him,--and as to the moaning at their summit, to tell the truth, he was afraid of it.

The long drive thither and back was tedious to him.