'Now, then,' said Liakim, pausing, 'you jest go straight on in this here channel till you come to the ninth run from this boy, on the right; take that, and it will lead you right up to Waiting Samuel's door.'
'Aren't you coming with us?'
'Well, no. In the first place, Rosabel Lee will be waiting supper for me, and she don't like to wait; and, besides, Samuel can't abide to see none of us round his part of the Flats.'
'But—' I began.
'Let him go,' interposed Raymond; 'we can find the house without trouble.' And he tossed a silver dollar to the little man, who was already turning his boat.
'Thank you,' said Liakim. 'Be sure you take the ninth run and no other,—the ninth run from this boy. If you make any mistake, you'll find yourselves miles away.'
With this cheerful statement, he began to row back. I did not altogether fancy being left on the watery waste without a guide; the name, too, of our mythic host did not bring up a certainty of supper and beds. 'Waiting Samuel,' I repeated, doubtfully. 'What is he waiting for?' I called back over my shoulder; for Raymond was rowing.
'The judgment-day!' answered Liakim, in a shrill key. The boats were now far apart; another turn, and we were alone.
We glided on, counting the runs on the right: some were wide, promising rivers; others wee little rivulets; the eighth was far away; and, when we had passed it, we could hardly decide whether we had reached the ninth or not, so small was the opening, so choked with weeds, showing scarcely a gleam of water beyond when we stood up to inspect it.
'It is certainly the ninth, and I vote that we try it. It will do as well as another, and I for one, am in no hurry to arrive anywhere,' said Raymond, pushing the boat in among the reeds.