And when the earthly paradise caught upon the flats the little remaining water was running as if it were going to catch a train.
Rapidly, ever so rapidly, the water slid down off the flats to join the hurrying water in the channel.

And, presto, all of a sudden there was the Isle of Desserts high and dry surrounded by an ocean of oozy mud while the river, narrowed to a mere brook, rushed in its channel some fifty feet distant.

And there you are.
That is why the man in the moon (who knows all about the tides) winked at Pee-wee.

At least, I suppose that is why he winked.
You could not have reached the Isle of Desserts with a boat or with snow-shoes or with stilts or with anything except an airplane.
Swimming to it was out of the question.

Shouting and screaming to it was feasible, of course.