Fortunately the boat was near the bank, and Joe was able to scramble up the tow-path, more frightened than either hurt or wet. Captain Bill shook his fist at him angrily. “You go ahead to them hosses,” he shouted; “and you, Blixey,” raising his voice still higher, “you come back here an’ pump out this boat!” Blixey, who had seen Joe’s mishap, laughed hoarsely. His trembling knock-knees, as he walked toward the boat, seemed each moment likely to give way. Joe was very far from being in a laughing mood. Never in his life had he been treated like this. Still, violently angry as he was, he feared to disobey this ruffian; he was even afraid to remonstrate with him. He went forward meekly, took the gad that Blixey handed to him, and resumed the monotonous task of urging on the tired and miserable horses. He was already drenched to the skin, sore in mind and body, and sick at heart. Once as he walked, he chanced to remember how he and his sister Jennie used to play on the haymow in the big barn on rainy afternoons. Somehow the memory brought tears to his eyes; but he brushed them away and trudged on. Many loaded boats were met coming down, and many locks were passed. It was always a relief to the monotony to come to a lock, and take the horses around it, and wait while the boat was being locked through. Often there were little villages at the locks, too, and small stores fronting on the tow-path, and people looking out from behind the store windows. The rain came down as steadily as ever. The tow-path grew muddier and more slippery with every passing moment, and the long hours wore on. By and by it grew dark, but the boats in the canal kept moving. Lights shone from the cabin windows, and red lamps gleamed from the bows of the boats; but the tow-path, where Joe walked, was wrapped in the deepest gloom. CHAPTER IV. CAPTAIN BILL BUYS A HORSE. It was a cold, rainy, and impenetrably dark night on the tow-path. Here and there was a lantern, which, when passed, seemed only to deepen the darkness. Now and then the swish of a tow-line in the water was heard, or the harsh scraping of a boat against another boat or against the timbers of the wharf. Men shouted hoarsely to one another or to their beasts. Along the muddy tow-path a pair of drenched and miserable horses were urged by a drenched and miserable boy. To this boy, who was Joe Gaston, it was all like some hideous dream. He moved under a constant strain of fear upon nerves already overwrought, and with incessant physical effort on the part of a body already worn to the verge of exhaustion. He found relief for a few moments while he ate his supper. The boat was waiting below a lock. The captain, who had already eaten, went out on the tow-path, and Joe’s only companion at the table was Blixey. When the two had eaten all that was before them, Blixey said: “Well, young un, had enough, eh?” “No,” replied Joe, “I haven’t. I’m hungry yet.”