but I warn't
man enough--hadn't the spunk of a rabbit. I see I was weakening; so I
just give up trying, and up and says:

"He's white."

"I reckon we'll go and see for ourselves."

"I wish you would," says I, "because it's pap that's there, and maybe
you'd help me tow the raft ashore where the light is. He's sick--and
so is mam and Mary Ann."

"Oh, the devil! we're in a hurry, boy. But I s'pose we've got to.
Come, buckle to your paddle, and let's get along."

I buckled to my paddle and they laid to their oars. When we had made a
stroke or two, I says:

"Pap 'll be mighty much obleeged to you, I can tell you. Everybody
goes away when I want them to help me tow the raft ashore, and I can't
do it by myself."

"Well, that's infernal mean. Odd, too. Say, boy, what's the matter
with your father?"

"It's the--a--the--well, it ain't anything much."

They stopped pulling. It warn't but a mighty little ways to the raft
now. One says:

"Boy, that's a lie. What _is_ the matter with your pap? Answer up
square now, and it 'll be the better for you."

"I will, sir, I will, honest--but don't leave us, please. It's
the--the--Gentlemen, if you'll only pull ahead, and let me heave you
the headline, you won't have to come a-near the raft--please do."

"Set her back, John, set her back!" says one. They backed water. "Keep
away, boy--keep to looard. Confound it, I just expect the wind has
blowed it to us. Your pap's got the smallpox, and you know it precious
well. Why didn't you come out and say so? Do you want to spread it all
over?"

"Well," says I, a-blubbering, "I've told everybody before, and they
just went away and left us."

"Poor devil, there's something in that. We are right down sorry for
you, but we--well, hang it, we don't want the smallpox, you see. Look
here, I'll tell you what to do. Don't you try to land by yourself, or
you'll smash everything to pieces. You float along down about twenty
miles, and you'll come to a town on the left-hand side of the river.
It will be long after sun-up then, and when you ask for help you tell
them your folks are all down with chills and fever. Don't be a fool
again, and let people guess what is the matter. Now we're trying to do
you a kindness; so you just put twenty miles between us, that's a good
boy. It wouldn't do any good to land yonder where the light is--it's
only a wood-yard. Say, I reckon your father's poor, and I'm bound to
say he's in pretty hard luck. Here, I'll