wasn't for poor Billy's melancholy
over the loss of his dog," remarked Glen Elting, as he turned the
steaming garments hanging in front of the galley stove. "It was a
splendid start, wasn't it, Grip?"

"Yes, I suppose so," answered Binney, a little doubtfully; "though I
don't believe it would seem quite so fine to you if you ached all over
as I do."

"Perhaps not, old man. But you'll be all right again to-morrow, after
a good night in 'dream-bags;' and anyway, you must admit that this
beats steamboating all to nothing. Just think, if we hadn't been lucky
enough to fall in with this blessed raft, and Billy and Winn, and all
the rest, we should at this very moment be just ordinary
ten-o'clock-at-night passengers, shivering on the Cairo wharf-boat, and
waiting for the New Orleans packet to come along. She's due there some
time this evening, yon know."

"Yes; and instead of that, here I am--"

"Here you are," interrupted Glen, seeing that his friend was about to
utter a complaint; "and thankful you ought to be to find yourself here,
too. Why, we'll be as merry as this muddy old river is long, as soon
as Billy ceases to mourn for his dog. I'm a little surprised that he
should take it so much to heart, though. It isn't like Billy B. to be
cast down over trifles."

"Trifles!" cried Winn. "When you call dear old Bim a 'trifle,' you are
making one of the big mistakes of your life, and you wouldn't do it
either if you had known him as well as I did. There never was another
dog like him for wisdom and gentleness and pluck and--well, and
everything that makes a dog lovely. Why, that Bim would reason his way
out of scrapes that would stump a man, and the word 'fear' was never
printed in his dictionary. Somehow I can't help thinking that he'll
turn up all right, bright and smiling, yet."

"I don't see how," said Glen.

"Neither can I, and I don't suppose I could if I were in his place; but
unless Bim is uncommonly dead, I'll guarantee that he'll come to life
again somehow and somewhere. In fact, I shouldn't be one bit surprised
to see him aboard this very raft again before our voyage is ended."

"I must confess that I should," said Glen.

"That's because you don't know him," responded Winn. "Isn't it, Solon?"

"I 'spec's hit must be, Marse Winn," answered the old negro.

"And wasn't he the very wisest dog you ever knew?"

"Yes, sah, he suttinly was, all 'ceptin' one, an' hit war a yallar
'coon dawg wha' I