Noon brought no cessation of the rain. We ate luncheon in the office. "Star boarders" could not have reported more promptly at meal time. Good appetites were the most encouraging features of this portion of the trip. At 2 o'clock in the afternoon the skies cleared slightly and in a few minutes we resumed our voyage. The three locks at North Branch, Nos. 75, 74 and 73, respectively, were negotiated in less than 15 minutes and we found ourselves on "Oldtown level." In the language of the boatmen and the denizens of the canal country all geographical distinctions are made strictly "on the level." A "level," we learned, is that stretch of the canal between two given locks. From Cumberland to Georgetown (Washington) there are 75 locks, and consequently the same number of levels, plus one. There is an ancient and honorable superstition to the effect that the person who sets out on a journey and turns back is certain to meet with disappointment. Ten minutes after we departed from North Branch we remembered that we had left our maps behind in the lockmaster's office. The maps, United States Geological Survey quadrangles, were indispensable and we turned back. Prompt and speedy came our disappointment. * * * * * OLDTOWN LEVEL is about 10 miles long. We estimated that we could reach Oldtown village in about two hours. While the idle hours had dragged along in the sleepy hamlet of North Branch we looked forward longingly to Oldtown. The name sounded enchanting and moreover we were told that we could procure gasoline, groceries and our favorite brands of confectionery there. After running merrily about seven miles our motor stopped cold. No amount of coaxing would make it run. Gathering clouds betokened a resumption of the rain. No human habitation was in sight. The motor's affliction was difficult of diagnosis, but its trouble appeared to be serious. I had just made up my mind that the boat would have to be paddled or towed to the end of the level when Canal Boat No. 14 eased along. The skipper inquired we were "in trouble." It was mere charity and politeness of him to ask, because the expression on our faces must have told him that we regarded our condition as one of dire distress. "His en-jine's done busted," shouted the little ragged muleteer as he passed us on his plodding animals. "Ketch the line," advised the skipper, while we grasped the piece of rope he tossed toward us. Making his rope fast to a cleat on the bow we saw "Sometub" humiliated by being towed at the stern of a slow-moving freight boat towed in turn by two decrepit mules. "Sometub" felt the disgrace keenly and jerked about like an unbroken colt that feels a rein for the first time. Only strenuous use of the paddle as a steering oar kept the proud little boat in the channel. In this way we moved stupidly into Oldtown. An hour and a half was required to go less than three miles.