"_The Nancy Jane?_" questioned the girl. "Yes, the steamboat that used to run here." Virginia became interested. "I didn't know that steamboats ran on this river." "The _Nancy Jane_ ain't exactly running," admitted the farmer. "She is tied up at South Ridgefield unless she's sunk since last week. The _Nancy Jane_ is the best way to get to this grove and old Bill Quince is the man to bring the old boat here. Bill Quince knows this river." "Would it be safe to bring the babies on it?" Virginia asked, troubled. The farmer chuckled softly. "You ain't in nigh as much danger of drownin' on the old Lame Moose as of stickin'." "That doesn't seem such a terrible calamity," laughed Virginia. "I will see Mr. Quince and inquire about his boat." "It's a nice trip, Ma'am," the farmer encouraged her. "Bill Quince made it twice a day for two years a-carrying drunks, mostly, with nary an accident. He is a fine man. A natural born sailor, Bill is. Takes to the water like a duck. You won't make no mistake a trustin' Bill Quince, I promise you, Ma'am." "Dat Mr. Quince is er gran' man," Ike told Virginia, on their journey home. "He done save de life o' er po' colored boy wot was er fishin' off de bank by his house. De pole dat de boy cut f'om de bresh ain' long 'nough to rech out to de deep water whar de big fishes is. He done git hisse'f er plank an' puts one end under er log an' rest'tes de middle on a rock at de aidge o' de bank. Den he clum out on tother en' ovah de water. Long come 'nother boy an' rolls de log. De fisherman draps in de river. He done sink de secon' time an' give er scan'lous yell. Mr. Quince rest'tes hisse'f by de house an' he hear 'im. Mr. Quince tek er quick look an' den he grab er pole wid er i'on hook off de house an hooks de boy in de britches an' hauls 'im out, jes as he sink de las' time. Den he stan's dat kid on his haid an' let de water run outen him an' puts ointment on his purson, whar de hook dig 'im. He ain' no time think 'bout de floater money." "What money?" inquired Virginia, much interested. "De floater money. Mr. Quince bein' er river man, he catches de daid wot floats down de river, an' de county dey give 'im ten dollars fo' each floater he git. Dat boy jes de same as daid. If Mr. Quince catch 'm er minute later, er hol' 'im undah er minute, dat boy die an' Mr. Quince git ten dollars. Dat man is er hero, Miss Virginy." The girl shuddered. "Stop talking about dead people, Ike, you make me nervous," she remonstrated, and, as they crossed the bridge, a creepy Virginia thought she caught shadowy glimpses in the green depths of a gruesome opportunity for Mr. Quince to win anew a reward from his grateful county.