At a distant end of his raft, hidden from its owner by a jutting point from which they leaped, naked boys waded and swam, jeering the deaf singer as they jeered each passing boat, while occasionally an adventurous fellow would dive quite under a skiff, seizing his opportunity while the oars were lifted. None of the little rowboats carried sail as a rule, although sometimes a sloop would float by with an air of commanding a squadron of the sparse fleet which extended along the length of the river. The sun was fallen nearly to the levee-line this evening when one of the finest of the "river palaces" hove in sight. The sky-hour for "dousing the great glim" was so near--and the actual setting of the sun is always sudden--that, while daylight still prevailed, all the steamer's lights were lit, and although the keen sun which struck her as a search-light robbed her thousand lamps of their value, the whole scene was greater for the full illumination. The people along shore waved to the passing boat--they always do it--and the more amiable of the passengers answered with flying handkerchiefs. As she loomed radiant before them, an aged negro, sitting mending his net, remarked to his companion: "What do she look like to you, Br'er Jones?" "'What she look like to me?'" The man addressed took his pipe from his lips at the question. "What she look like--to me?" he repeated again. "Why, tell the trufe, I was jes' studyin' 'bout dat when you spoke. She 'minds me o' Heaven; dat what she signifies to my eyes--Heavenly mansions. What do she look like to _you_?" "Well," the man shifted the quid in his mouth and lowered his shuttle as he said slowly, "well, to my observance, she don't answer for Heaven; I tell yer dat: not wid all dat black smoke risin' outen 'er 'bominable regions. She's mo' like de yether place to _me_. She may have Heavenly gyarments on, but she got a hell breath, sho'. An' listen at de band o' music playin' devil-dance time inside her! An' when she choose to let it out, she's got a-a-nawful snort--she sho' is!" "Does you mean de cali-ope?" "No; she ain't got no cali-ope. I means her clair whistle. Hit's got a jedgment-day sound in it to my ears."