“Pardon me; I meant to say James. No, Jim won’t forget us in a hurry, and I think it will be wiser to keep on this side of the river for a while. That’s Westchester County over there and this is Rockland. I don’t know much about such things, I’m pleased to say, but it seems to me that if that old farmer gets out a warrant for us we’ll be better off in some other county.” “What are you going to do about your coat and things, though?” Roy asked. “Get ’em this evening,” answered Chub, “when the shades of night have fallen over hill and vale. Let’s put in around that point there and stay until then, shall we? I don’t believe they can see us from the other shore.” Dick joined them and they talked it over and finally agreed to Chub’s plan. The _Slow Poke_ was steered around the point and anchored--since a shallow beach made it inadvisable to stretch lines ashore--near a little village. The railroad ran along within a few yards and a tiny station was in sight. But the point of land cut them off from sight of Farmer Ewing’s neighborhood and they believed that they could spend the day there safely. They went ashore and made a few purchases and learned that the nearest ferry was four miles up the river. “That would mean a good five miles upstream and four miles back if they tried to get us that way,” said Chub. “And I don’t believe they’d go to that trouble. Besides, it’s safe that they think we’re still going down the river.” “Just the same,” said Dick, “one of us had better keep a lookout all the time so that if they did try to get us we could skip out.” “Right you are, Dickums. Yours is the wisdom of the owl and the cunning of the serpent.”