uld
have startled the good mother by turning a somersault or a series of
cartwheels! Oh, the smell of an old-fashioned wholesome meal in process
of development!

A short while back I sang the praises of the feast in the open--the
feast of your own kill, tanged with the wood smoke. And even here I
cling to the statement that of all meals, the feast of wild meat in the
wilderness takes precedence. But the supper we ate that evening takes
close second. Welcome on every face!--the sort of welcome that the most
lavish tips could not buy. And after the dishes were cleared away, they
brought out a phonograph, and we all sat round like one family, swapping
information and yarns even up, while the music went on. When we left
next morning at sunrise, it seemed that we were leaving home--and the
river reaches looked a bit dismal all that day.

Having once been a vagabond in a non-professional way, I have a theory
about the physiognomy of houses. Some have a forbidding,
sick-the-dog-on-you aspect about them, not at all due, I am sure, to
architectural design. Experience has taught me to be suspicious of such
houses. Some houses have the appearance of death--their windows strike
you as eyeless sockets, the doors look like mouths that cannot speak.
The great houses along Fifth Avenue seemed like that to me. I could walk
past them in the night and feel like a ghost. I have seen cottages that
I wanted to kneel to; and I'm sure this feeling wasn't due to the vine
growing over the porch or the roses nodding in the yard. Knock at the
door of such a house, and the chances are in favor of your being met by
a quiet, motherly woman--one who will instantly make you think of your
own mother. Some very well constructed houses look surly, and some
shabby ones look kind, somehow. If you have ever been a book agent or a
tramp, how you will revel in this seeming digression! God grant that no
man in need may ever look wistfully at your house or at mine, and pass
on with a shake of the head. It is a subtle compliment to have book
agents and tramps frequently at one's door.

Am I really digressing? My theme is a trip on a great river. Well,
kindness and nature are not so far apart, let us believe.

Now this ranch-house looked hospitable; there was no mistaking it.
Wherefore I deduce that the spirit of the inhabitants must pierce
through and emanate from the senseless walls like an effluvium. Who
knows but that every house has its telltale aura, pla