-and so I went farther.

The other frame house also turned out to be deserted, but evidently
only for the day, for the lilac bushes in the front yard were hung
with men's flannel shirts drying in the sun. A buck goat came bleating
toward me, with many a flourish of his horns, from which it was plain
to be seen why the family wash was not spread upon the grass. From
here I followed a narrow path through a wheat-field, the grain up to
my shoulders, toward the log dwelling. A mangy little cur disputed my
right to knock at the door; but, flourishing my two tin pails at him,
he flew yelping to take refuge in the hen-coop. To my summons at the
portal, there came no response, save the mewing of the cat within. It
was clear that the people of Point Sandy were not at home, to-day.

I would have retreated to the boat, but, chancing to glance up at the
overhanging hills which edge in the bottom, saw two men sitting on a
boulder in front of a rude log hut on the brink of a cliff,
curiously watching my movements on the plain. Thankful, now, that the
postmaster's cow had gone dry, and that these observant mountaineers
had not had an opportunity to misinterpret my conduct, I at once
hurried toward the hill, hopeful that at the top some bovine might be
housed, whose product could lawfully be acquired. But after a long
and laborious climb, over shifting stones and ragged ledges, I was met
with the discouraging information that the only cow in these parts
was Hawkins' cow, and Hawkins was the postmaster,--"down yon, whar yew
were a-read'n' th' notices on th' hoss-block." Neither had they any
water, up there on the cliff-top--"don' use very much, stranger; 'n'
what we do, we done git at Smithfield's, in th' log-house down yon,
'n' I reck'n their cistern's done gone dry, anyhow!"

"But what is the matter down there?" I asked of the old man,--they
were father and son, this lounging pair who thus loftily sat in
judgment on the little world at their feet; "why are all the folks
away from home?"

He looked surprised, and took a fresh chew while cogitating on my
alarming ignorance of Point Sandy affairs: "Why, ain' ye heared? I
thote ev'ry feller on th' river knew thet yere--why, ol' Hawkins, his
wife's brother's buried in Alton to-day, 'n' th' neighbors done gwine
t' th' fun'ral. Whar your shanty-boat been beached, thet ye ain'
heared thet yere?"

As the sun neared the horizon, we tried other places below, with no
better success; and two