Again he grunted--a louder grunt than the first, because now he was
preparing to get up. This he presently accomplished, and went into the
store, sliding his feet along over the planks of the porch. In process
of time I got my seed.
"What's up there?" I asked, as we came out together, pointing to a hill
across the railroad up which the pike wound sinuously.
The storekeeper dropped upon the cracker-box and resumed the same
position he had when I accosted him, before replying.
"Chu'ch 'n' pa's'nage; s'p'intend'nt's house. 'Stillery yonder; river
under th' bridge."
Whereupon he immediately relapsed into his former inertia, and I
forebore further questions.
I decided I would take a look at the river. Hebron lay beneath my gaze:
small, ill-kept houses; small yards with some dismal attempts at
floriculture; dirty children and work-worn women. These latter I
glimpsed as I walked on to the railroad, at windows and on porches,
staring apathetically at the stranger. I soon reached the bridge, which
I found spanned a river of considerable size. It had a gravel bed, and
its banks were heavily lined with trees. Its western sweep was
particularly attractive from where I stood, and I at once determined
upon a closer acquaintance, for the day was but begun, and there was no
need for me to hasten home. After a brief search I found a path which
conducted me to the side of the stream. The channel here was rather
narrow and the water seemed deep, its flow being gentle and placid.
Somewhat to my surprise, the path continued, running worm-like between
the thick growth of willow and sycamore. I went forward, with no purpose
whatsoever, merely yielding to an idling spirit, and the charm of an
unfamiliar track through the woods by a river. I may have gone half a
mile, never more than a dozen feet from the brink, when I espied a boat
snugly beached, and tied to a scrubby oak whose roots were partly
submerged. Why not take a ride? The thought was born instantaneously,
and quickly took the shape of resolve. Here was a delightful diversion
ready to my hand. I loved to pull an oar, and the gleaming, dark-green
surface before me seemed to invite. I placed my bundle of seed on the
ground, slipped off my coat and flung it across a limb, then laid hold
of the painter. It was not locked, as I half feared it would be. The
boat was a delicate, shapely affair, painted white, and I marveled that
such a dainty craft should be moored here in the wilds about Hebron. The
painter was loose, and one of my feet was in the boat as I prepared to
shove off, when--
"I beg your pardon," I heard; "but may I have my boat a little while?"