Among other things that favored our ferry was a certain romantic fancy that attached to it. Thus the little buoys, skimming the water like ducklings, never failed to attract the attention and elicit the admiration of those who crossed. Of our signaling devices, they were very simple; two strokes of the bell indicated a horse or wagon, one a foot passenger. The last fell to me, and because of it, I became in time very expert in handling the small boat, never failing, as good fortune would have it, to bring my passenger safely to shore. Our landing-places, too, were exceedingly picturesque, and caused the more sentimental no end of foolish talk. On the side where we lived hawthorns and elder covered the banks and edges of the river, and on the other shore two great elms guarded the approach. These last were remarkable in their way, and because of it added considerable to our earnings. One was of great height and grand to look upon from a distance, but the other, stopping midway, as if tired of striving to keep pace with its neighbor, reached out its limbs in every direction in the most picturesque and pathetic way, as if inviting alms. This tree was called the Penitent, and the other, because of its stateliness and dearth of shade, the Pharisee. The trees were given these names at first in idle fancy by a customer of ours, a devout woman much given to snuff and gossip; but the cunningness of the fancy tickling her greatly, she gave it the widest publicity, so that in time travelers came miles out of their way to view the curiosity and comment upon it. Because of this and the good lady’s attendance upon covenant meetings and the like, Mr. Hayward, who was not lacking in sentiment, reduced her fare one-half. This, like most things he did, proved a great stroke of business in the end, for now she visited Appletop twice as often as before, and in her journeyings to and fro never tired of speaking of the beauties of our ferry and its fine location and good business management. "A queer woman, that," Mr. Hayward one day remarked as I came up from the landing after setting her ashore, "and tending to show that what people think, they will do. If her name, now, had been something beside Snuffe, she would never have thought of using the stuff as she does." "Why, what has that to do with it?" I asked, not seeing the connection. "After she got married, much thinking of the name of Snuffe, and some worrying about it, she says, caused her to help herself to a pinch now and then out of pure perversity of spirit, until in the end she got to like it, so that now she can scarce finish a prayer without a sly dip into her bag." "Her husband might have changed his name; he would not have had to look far for a better one," I answered, to see what he would say.