ovens in nearly every yard, a few
chickens, and often a shed for the cow, that is off on her daily climb
over the neighboring hills. Through the black pall of shale, a
few vegetables struggle feebly to the light; in the corners of the
palings, are hollyhocks and four-o'clocks; and, on window-sills, rows
of battered tin cans, resplendent in blue and yellow labels, are the
homes of verbenas and geraniums, in sickly bloom. Now and then, a
back door in the dreary block is distinguished by an arbored trellis
bearing a grape-vine, and furnishing for the weary housewife a shady
kitchen, _al fresco_. As a rule, however, there is little attempt to
better the homeless shelter furnished by the corporation.

We restocked with provisions at Monongahela City, a smart, newish
town, and at Elizabeth, old and dingy. It was at Elizabeth, then
Elizabethtown, that travelers from the Eastern States, over the old
Philadelphia Road, chiefly took boat for the Ohio--the Virginians
still clinging to Redstone, as the terminus of the Braddock Road.
Elizabethtown, in flatboat days, was the seat of a considerable
boat-building industry, its yards in time turning out steamboats for
the New Orleans trade, and even sea-going sailing craft; but, to-day,
coal barges are the principal output of her decaying shipyards.

By this time, the duties of our little ship's company are well
defined. W---- supervises the cuisine, most important of all offices;
the Doctor is chief navigator, assistant cook, and hewer of wood; it
falls to my lot to purchase supplies, to be carrier of water, to pitch
tent and make beds, and, while breakfast is being cooked, to dismantle
the camp and, so far as may be, to repack Pilgrim; the Boy collects
driftwood, wipes dishes, and helps at what he can--while all hands row
or paddle through the livelong day, as whim or need dictates.

Lock No. 3, at Walton, necessitated a portage of the load, over the
left bank. It is a steep, rocky climb, and the descent on the lower
side, strewn with stone chips, destructive to shoe-leather. The Doctor
and I let Pilgrim herself down with a long rope, over a shallow spot
in the apron of the dam.

At six o'clock a camping-ground for the night became desirable. We
were fortunate, last evening, to find a bit of rustic country in which
to pitch our tent; but all through this afternoon both banks of the
river were lined with village after village, city after city, scarcely
a garden patch between them--