The habitation of Mr. Quince presented much of interest. It was airily although damply situated at the point of a promontory where Hog Creek emptied its limited flow into the Lame Moose River. The site was desirable for a man of Mr. Quince's tastes and aspirations. Upon the one hand, the river afforded a pleasant marine foreground for the abattoirs and packing-houses, veiled in odoriferous smoke, upon the opposite shore. On the other hand, the quiet waters of Hog Creek offered a safe anchorage for the good ship _Nancy Jane_ and a fleet of skiffs in various stages of decay. Mr. Quince was a man of ingenuity and resourcefulness, and a natural forager. On the day that he selected this site, for the sojournment of himself and a stray youth who had elected to follow his fortunes, Mr. Quince built a fire and cooked some fish. The next sun saw a brush leanto constructed, shortly made impervious to rain by a covering of old canvas. This structure was followed in turn, as freshets deposited their beneficent fruits, by a board shack, a hut and at last a something which a charitable public called a house. While the evolution of Mr. Quince's fireside furnished much of professional interest to sociologists, it was viewed by that soulless corporation which owned the land, a railroad company, as an attempt to establish adverse possession, by open, notorious, and hostile occupancy. Divers ejectments, although temporarily successful, failed of permanent effect and Mr. Quince dwelt in more or less of a state of siege. Virginia found the riverman seated before his house, in a chair shaped out of a barrel, and prevented from being mislaid by its permanent attachment to a post in the ground. His experienced eyes watched the surface of the river for signs of treasure trove awash. Upon the front of his residence, conveniently at hand, hung the pole with the iron hook, while, at the foot of a precipitous pathway, an old skiff bobbed, readily available to meet emergencies of the deep. The arrival of the automobile startled Mr. Quince. To this aquatic man, a boat upon the river offered the more agreeable pathway to his home. He arose nervously, as one suspecting ejectment proceedings. The wind blew his patched overalls and flannel shirt about his tall, thin figure. Ike, bowing respectfully, spoke words of greeting. "Howdy, Bill." "Howdy," returned the mariner, calmed by the thought that it was not the custom of courts to rely upon such instrumentalities as negro chauffeurs and young maidens. "We want to rent your boat for a picnic at Elgin's Grove tomorrow," called Virginia. The tender of charter appeared to surprise Mr. Quince. He removed his ancient hat and scratched his scalp. "Where is your boat?" Virginia looked about as if expecting to discover the _Priscilla_ or _Commonwealth_ at rest upon the bosom of Hog Creek. The riverman pointed and the girl's eyes followed his finger.