nearly
eleven o’clock before
`` Do n't go to sleep , old man , '' we said as we started . `` Not much fear of that while this stew 's on , '' he grunted , as he pulled back to the island . Henley was getting ready for the regatta , and was full of bustle . We met a goodish number of men we knew about the town , and in their pleasant company the time slipped by somewhat quickly ; so that it was nearly eleven o'clock before we set off on our four-mile walk home -- as we had learned to call our little craft by this time . It was a dismal night , coldish , with a thin rain falling ; and as we trudged through the dark , silent fields , talking low to each other , and wondering if we were going right or not , we thought of the cosy boat , with the bright light streaming through the tight-drawn canvas ; of Harris and Montmorency , and the whisky , and wished that we were there . We conjured up the picture of ourselves inside , tired and a little hungry ; of the gloomy river and the shapeless trees ; and , like a giant glow-worm underneath them , our dear old boat , so snug and warm and cheerful . We could see ourselves at supper there , pecking away at cold meat , and passing each other chunks of bread ; we could hear the cheery clatter of our knives , the laughing voices , filling all the space , and overflowing through the opening out into the night .