ges would wedge itself firmly there,
attracting others by its evil example.

"That galoot-boss ought to hev shoved his crew down to that jam this
mornin'," grumbled Old Kennebec to Alcestis Crambry, who was always his
most loyal and attentive listener. "But he would n't take no advice, not
if Pharaoh nor Boaz nor Herod nor Nicodemus come right out o' the Bible
an' give it to him. The logs air contrary today. Sometimes they'll go
along as easy as an old shoe, an' other times they'll do nothin' but
bung, bung, bung! There's a log nestlin' down in the middle o' that jam
that I've be'n watchin' for a week. It's a cur'ous one, to begin with;
an' then it has a mark on it that you can reco'nize it by. Did ye ever
hear tell o' George the Third, King of England, Alcestis, or ain't he
known over to the crambry medders? Well, once upon a time men used to
go through the forests over here an' slash a mark on the trunks o' the
biggest trees. That was the royal sign, as you might say, an' meant that
the tree was to be taken over to England to make masts an' yard-arms for
the King's ships. What made me think of it now is that the King's mark
was an arrer, an' it's an arrer that's on that there log I'm showin'
ye. Well, sir, I seen it fust at Milliken's Mills a Monday. It was in
trouble then, an' it's be'n in trouble ever sence. That's allers the
way; there'll be one pesky, crooked, contrary, consarne'd log that can't
go anywheres without gittin' into difficulties. You can yank it out an'
set it afloat, an' before you hardly git your doggin' iron off of it,
it'll be snarled up agin in some new place. From the time it's chopped
down to the day it gets to Saco, it costs the Comp'ny 'bout ten times
its pesky valler as lumber. Now they've sent over to Benson's for a team
of horses, an' I bate ye they can't git 'em. I wish i was the boss on
this river, Alcestis."

"I wish I was," echoed the boy.

"Well, your head-fillin' ain't the right kind for a boss, Alcestis, an'
you'd better stick to dry land. You set right down here while I go back
a piece an' git the pipe out o' my coat pocket. I guess nothin' ain't
goin' to happen for a few minutes."

The surmise about the horses, unlike most of Old Kennebec's, proved
to be true. Benson's pair had gone to Portland with a load of hay;
accordingly the tackle was brought, the rope was adjusted to a log, and
five of the drivers, standing on the river-bank, attempted to drag it
from its intrenched pos