The afternoon was hot and the men tired, just the moment when a little inspiration was needed. One of the men said to his fellow in the prow of the canoe, "Nick, ah reckon it's about time fer you to lead off with a tune, one we kin hit the paddles to," and this was Nick's response: "The only good Injun, he died long ago. Shove her along, boy, shove her along. An' thar's nary one left on the O-hi-o. Push her along, boy, push her along." "Bravo, my worthy companion in toil. Verily thou makest the bending ash to glide through the water like a swan's wing. Another verse and we bid adieu to work." "If it affects the Chevalier that ar way, better give him another, Nick," said one of the men. "The trees do grow tall where the corn ought to grow, Push her along, boys, push her along. Virginny's a-comin' an' she don' move slow. Shove her along, boys, shove her along." "I would applaud, but my paddle is now going of itself and I dare not let go. Methinks we'll find around the next bend Pan with his flocks of aborigines assembled and kneeling in adoration. I'm not sure but he'll have the moon goddess with him." Now the Chevalier's three companions knew nothing of Pan or the moon goddess, with the possible exception of Nick, whose knowledge of mythology, if he possessed it, had not as yet appeared. Not knowing, they resented this intrusion of classical subjects and one remarked, "Your talk has a sweet sound; 'sposin' you sing us a verse." "Oh, melody is a wayward minx and vouchsafes her treasures of song to few. Were it springtime and had I the gift I would sing: "'When the red is on the maple and the dogwood is in bloom.'" "Keep right on, you'll bloom right soon," said Nick with a laugh in which all joined. "Keep her goin', Chevalier," said another. "Forsooth, my merry men, Puritans, Roundheads, I'll try: "When cavalier doth draw his steel The ranks fall back and yeomen kneel, For that is as they should. The pikes may gleam in thousands strong, But men who ride shall right the wrong. For throne and home they stood." "Sure they stood not on the order o' goin', or I've misread me history," laughed Nick. "Ho, ho! my merry figure-head at the prow, this from you, _et tu Brute_! I feared the lines would not scan, but it's not expected that every man in the crew must be an Adonis because the figure-head of the craft is a thing of beauty. One failure begets another, 'tis said, so perhaps you'll like this no better: