In one town a handsome boy was determined to come with me, and by prolonged talking I had subdued his father and was hurrying away when suddenly the mother appeared upon the scene, cursing me, and threatening to take the boy’s life. Another contention followed, which I won by many words and a small piece of laundry soap. The victory seemed complete; the father and mother were sending the boy away with their blessing, and speaking kind words to me; we were about to get into the canoe to go to the launch, which was in the middle of the river, when an old and very ugly woman, grand-aunt or something of that sort, came rushing towards us, shrieking and flinging her arms about her, cursing me, and altogether presenting such a spectacle as might suggest that one of Macbeth’s witches had escaped from the underworld. Quickly, and in great alarm, we sprang into the canoe and pushed off; for I would rather fight with ten men than one woman. But there were many of us, we were standing up in the canoe, and before we had sufficient way on she had waded after us up to her neck in water, and laying hold of the canoe with both hands, she tried to capsize it—which would be easily done. The state of my health made it advisable that I should try to avoid being thrown into the river. Besides, the whole town was now gathered on the bank, rending the air with laughter, and if I failed they would continue to laugh for a year or two. I caught her hands and tried to wrench them from the side of the canoe; but I did not wish to use all my strength against an old woman, and moreover she had the advantage of standing on the ground, while I had to balance the canoe; so I failed in the effort. A second more and we would have been in the river, when I caught her by the back of the neck, and, ducking her head under the water, I held her there as solemnly as I could until she so far weakened as to let go her hold on the canoe, and we moved on, while the audience on the bank cheered. But I had a most unheroic feeling all the rest of that day. In another town, a father who refused to let his boy go, said: “I don’t want my boy coming back here knowing more than his father, his skin all clean, while his old father sits around with the itch scratching himself. Why, the boy would despise me! I won’t let him go.”