"We'll call it Apple-pie Island and it can't corrode or erode or whatever you call it, either, because it's boxed in!" That indeed seemed to be the way of it.

Apparently the island reposed comfortably in and over the edges of a huge, shallow box of heavy timbers which had received it with kindly hospitality when it broke away and toppled over into the water.

As we know, the river had eaten away the land under the little balcony peninsula, and the scow, or whatever it was, must have drifted or been moored underneath the earthy projection.
"Maybe it belonged to that big dredge that was working up here," said Pee-wee, "Anyway it's lucky for us, hey?
Because now our island has a good foundation and it can't dis--what d'you call it." "Only it complicates the question of ownership," said Townsend, apparently not in the least astonished or excited.

"Here is a piece of land belonging to old Trimmer on a scow or something or other belonging to a dredging company or somebody or other and claimed by the boy scouts by right of discovery." "Old Trimmer owned the land," Pee-wee fairly yelled, "but now the land isn't there any more and now it's an island so he doesn't own it because he's got a deed and it doesn't say _island_ on the deed! _Gee whiz_, anybody knows that." "But suppose the owner of the scow wants his property," Townsend said.
"Let him come and get it," Pee-wee shouted.

"If we get a deed for this island the scow is covered by the deed!" "You mean it's covered by the island," Brownie said.
"Well, we seem to be standing still now, anyway," said Townsend; "it's a relief to know that when we wake up to-morrow morning we won't be floating in the water.