The pilots here changed places. _When did they sleep?_ Wood taken in, the ‘Caravan’ again took her place in the middle of the stream, paddling on as usual. Day at length dawned, the brag-party broke up, and settlements were being made, during which operation the Captain’s bragging propensities were exercised in cracking up the speed of his boat, which, by his reckoning, must have made at least sixty miles, and would have made many more if he could have procured good wood. It appears the two passengers, in their first lesson, had incidentally lost one hundred and twenty dollars. The Captain, as he rose to see about taking in some _good_ wood, which he felt sure of obtaining, now he had got above the level country, winked at his opponent, the pilot, with whom he had been on very bad terms during the progress of the game, and said, in an under tone: “Forty a-piece for you, and I, and James (the other pilot) is not bad for one night.” I had risen, and went out with the Captain, to enjoy a view of the bluffs. There was just fog enough to prevent the vision taking in more than sixty yards, so I was disappointed in _my_ expectation. We were nearing the shore for the purpose of looking for wood, the banks being invisible from the middle of the river. “There it is!” exclaimed the Captain; “stop her!” Ding, ding, ding! went the big bell, and the Captain hailed: “Hollo! the wood-yard!” “Hollo, yourself!” answered a squeaking female voice, which came from a woman with a petticoat over her shoulders in place of a shawl. “What’s the price of wood?” “I think you ought to know the price by this time,” answered the old lady in the petticoat; “it’s three and a qua-a-rter! and now you know it.” “Three and the d——l!” broke in the Captain; “what, have you raised on _your_ wood too? I’ll give you three, and not a cent more.” “Well,” replied the petticoat, “here comes the old man; _he’ll_ talk to you.” And, sure enough, out crept from the cottage the veritable faded hat, copperas-coloured pants, yellow countenance, and two weeks’ beard we had seen the night before, and the same voice we had heard regulating the price of cotton-wood, squeaked out the following sentence, accompanied by the same leer of the same yellow countenance: “Why, darn it all, Capting! there is but three or four cords left, and _since it’s you_, I don’t care if I _do_ let you have it for _three, as you’re a good customer_!” After a quick glance at the landmarks around, the Captain bolted, and turned in to take some rest. The fact became apparent: the reader will probably have discovered it some time since, _that we had been wooding all night at the same wood-yard_! XXII. FYDGET FYXINGTON.[14]