who, when I came
up, was watering some refractory mules at a pump-trough. He paused
long enough to summon Boss and milk a half-gallon into my pail,
accepting my dime with a degree of thankfulness which was quite
unnecessary, considering that it was _quid pro quo_. Tobacco is a
more important crop than corn hereabout, he said; farmers are rather
impatiently waiting for rain, to set out the young plants. His only
outbuilding is a monster corn-crib, set high on posts--the airy
basement, no better than an open shed, serving for a stable; during
the few weeks of severe winter weather, horses and cow are removed
to the main floor, and canvas nailed around the sides to keep out
the wind. Even this slight protection is not vouchsafed stock by all
planters; the majority of them appear to provide only rain shelters,
and even these can be of slight avail in a driving storm.

Later, in the failing light, W---- and I pulled together over to the
"cracker" settlement, seeking drinking-water. A stout young man was
seated on the end of the ferry barge, talking earnestly with the
ferryman's daughter, a not unattractive girl, but pale and thin, as
these women are apt to be. Evidently they are lovers, and not ashamed
of it, for they gave us a friendly smile as we knotted our painter to
the barge-rail, and expressed great interest in Pilgrim, she being of
a pattern new to them.

We are in a noisy corner of the world. Over on the Indiana bottom,
a squeaky fiddle is grinding out dance-tunes, hymns and ballads with
charming indifference. We thought we detected in a high-pitched "Annie
Laurie" the voice of the ferryman's daughter. There seems, too, to be
a deal of rowing on the river, evidently Owensboro folk getting back
to town from a day in the country, and country folk hieing home after
a day in the city. The ferryman is in much demand, judging from the
frequent ringing of his bell,--one on either bank, set between two
tall posts, with a rope dangling from the arm. At early dusk, the
cracked bell of the Owensboro Bethel resounded harshly in our ears, as
it advertised an evening service for the floating population; and
now the wheezy strains of a melodeon tell us that, although we stayed
away, doubtless others have been attracted thither. The sepulchral
roars of passing steamers echo along the wooded shore, the night wind
rustles the tree-tops, Owensboro dogs are much awake, and the electric
lamps of the city throw upon our canvas screen