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?" I arose, holding the painter in my hand.