He winked at Tad as he pronounced the name, and Tad, glancing at Allen, saw him flush with embarrassment and turn quickly to the business of cleaning the breakfast utensils. Abe looked at both banks, to make sure the broadhorn was drifting on the right course, and rummaged in a pine box under the shelter, astern. From it he pulled forth presently a pair of woolen breeches, worn and shrunken, and a clean white cotton shirt. “These may fit ye a bit long,” he said to Tad, “but rollin’ up the legs an’ sleeves won’t hurt a thing. Maybe ye’ll grow into ’em.” Tad was really touched, for he could see that the gangling young boatman had given him his own “best clothes.” “Thanks,” he said. “That’s mighty good of you. And if you don’t mind, I’m going to wash before I put them on.” There was a length of new rope for mooring, tied to one of the bow-posts, and when Tad had stripped off his rags he threw the rope over the side and let himself down into the river. In the bright morning sun it felt warmer than the night before, but there was no temptation to stay in long. He scrubbed off as much of the grime as he was able, holding on by one hand, and then clambered back aboard. Five minutes later he was warm, dry, and decently clad, at least according to the simple standards of the river. “Now, Allen,” said Abe, resting on his oar-handles, “what are we a-goin’ to do with this young rooster?” Allen was frowning in perplexity. “Got any folks along this part o’ the river?” “No,” Tad said. “I don’t know a soul between here and New Orleans. But if you want to put me ashore, I suppose I could get something to do and earn my keep until Father comes for me.” Abe shook his head. “That don’t seem to me exactly reasonable,” he said. “We’re a-goin’ down to New Orleans ourselves, an’ we could maybe use a spare hand. What d’ye say, Cap’n?” Allen seemed a trifle dubious. “Think the rations’ll hold out?” he asked. “Sartin they will,” Abe replied. “We can make it quicker’n we planned, by runnin’ nights sometimes. An’ with a real dead-shot rifleman like you along, we ought to jest about live on b’ar an’ turkey meat, anyhow.” The other member of the crew was somewhat mollified by these words. “Wal, maybe so,” said he. “I reckon we can’t help ourselves. What can ye do, boy? Cook?” “I’m sorry,” Tad hesitated, “I--I don’t think I can, but perhaps I could learn.” “I b’lieve Allen, here, would condescend to give ye a lesson,” put in Abe, seriously. “Hm,” said Allen. “Can ye ketch fish, or chop wood?” “I never tried,” answered Tad, “but I’d like to.” Abe, who had been rowing hard during this questioning, leaned on his oars again.