s," returned Chillis; "I'll mind mine"--every word
spoken with a yell.

"What was the row, out there?" asks the mail-carrier, making a trumpet
of his hand.

"Boat flopped over; lost an oar," answered Chillis, keeping his little
craft from flying on board by main force.

"Guess I won't go over to-night," says the carrier. "'Taint safe for
the mail"--The wind snatching the word "mail" out of his mouth, and
scattering it over the water as if it had been a broken bundle of
letters. "I'll go back to Skippanon"--the letters flying every way
again.

"Couldn't get over noways, now," shouts back Chillis, glad in his heart
that he could not, and that the chance, or mischance, favored his
previous designs. Then he said no more, but watched his boat, warding it
off carefully until they reached the mouth of the creek and got inside,
with nothing worse to contend against than the insolent wind and rain.

"This is a purty stiff tide, for this time o' day. It won't take long to
pull up to Skippanon, with all this water pushin' us along. Goin' home
to-night, Joe?"

"Yes, I'm goin' home, ef I can borrer an oar," said Chillis. "My house
ain't altogether safe without me, in sech weather as this."

"Safer 'n most houses, ef she don't break away from her moorin's,"
returned the mail-carrier, laughing. "Ef I can git somebody to take my
place for a week, I'm comin' up to spend it with you, an' do some
shootin'. Nothin' like such an establishment as yours to go huntin'
in--house an' boat all in one--go where you please, an' stay as long as
you please."

"Find me an oar to git home with, an' you can come an' stay as long as
the grub holds out."

"Waal, I can do that, I guess, when we git to the landin'. I keep an
extra pair or two for emergencies. But it's gittin' awful black,
Chillis, an' I don't envy you the trip up the creek. It's crooked as a
string o' S's, an' full o' shoals, to boot."

"It won't be shoal to-night," remarked Chillis, and relapsed into
silence.

In a few minutes the boat's bow touched the bank. "Mind the tiller!"
called out both oarsmen, savagely. But as no one minded it, and it was
too dark to see what was the matter, the mail-carrier dropped his oar,
and stepped back to the stern to _feel_ what it was.

"He's fast asleep, or drunk, or dead, I don't know which," he called to
the other oarsman, as he got hold of the steering gear, and headed the
boat up-stream again. His companion made no reply, and the party