"It was like this, you know: Was reading Mark Twain's 'Life on the Mississippi.' On the first page he observes of that river that it draws its water supply from twenty-eight States, all the way from Delaware to Idaho. I don't just see it. Delaware, you know--that's pretty steep!" "If it were not for his reputation I should suspect Mr. Clemens of levity," said Mary. "Could it have been a slip?" "No slip. It's repeated. At the end of the second chapter he says this--I think I have it nearly word for word: 'At the meeting of the waters from Delaware and from Itasca, and from the mountain ranges close upon the Pacific--' Now what did he mean by making this very extraordinary statement twice? Is there a catch about it? Canals, or something?" "I think, perhaps," said Mary, "he meant to poke fun at our habit of reading without attention and of accepting statement as proof." "That's it, likely. But maybe there's a joker about canals. Wasn't there a Baltimore and Ohio Canal? But again, if so, how did water from Delaware get to Baltimore? Anyhow, that's how it all began--studying about canals. For, how about this dry canal along here? It runs forty miles that I know of--I've seen that much of it, driving Thompson's car. It must have cost a nice bunch of money. Who built it? When did who build it? What did it cost? Where did it begin? Where did it start to? Was it ever finished? Was it ever used? What was the name of it? Nobody seems to know." "I can't answer one of those questions, Mr. Boland." "And you a schoolmistress! Come now! I'll give you one more chance. What are the principal exports of Abingdon?" "That's easy. Let me see: potatoes, milk, eggs, butter, cheese. And hay, lumber, lath and bark--chickens and--and apples, apple cider--rye, buckwheat, buckwheat flour, maple sirup; pork and veal and beef; and--and that's all, I guess." "Wrong! I'll mark you fifty per cent. You've omitted the most important item. Abingdon--and every country town, I suppose--ships off her young people--to New York; to the factories; a few to the West. That is why Abingdon is the saddest place I've ever seen. Every farmhouse holds a tragedy. The young folk-- "They are all gone away; The house is shut and still. There is nothing more to say." Mary Selden stopped; she looked up at her companion thoughtfully. Seashell colors ebbed from her face and left it almost pale. "Thank you for reminding me," she said. "There is another bit of information I think you should have. You'll probably think me bold, forward, and the rest of it; I can't help that; you need the knowledge." Francis Charles groaned. "For my good, of course. Funny how anything that's good for us is always disagreeable. Well, let's have it!" "It may not be of the slightest consequence to you," began Mary, slightly confused. "And perhaps you know all about it--any old gossip could tell you. It's a wonder if they haven't; you've been here two weeks." Boland made a wry face. "I see! Exports?"