He strolled into the library, and then loitered along on the path leading down to the ferry.
Here he found the boat at the little wharf and old Lebanon on duty.
"Sarvint, marster," said the old negro, touching his rimless old felt hat. "Going over?"
"Yes, my man," said the duke, stepping on board the boat.
"W'ich dey calls me Uncle Lebnum as mentions ob me in dese parts, marster," the old ferryman explained, touching his hat.
"Oh, they do? Very well. I will remember," said the passenger, as the boat was pushed off from the shore.
"How many trips do you make in a day?" inquired the fare.
"Pen's 'pon how many people is a-comin' an' goin'. Some days I don't make no trip at all. Oder days, w'en dere's a weddin' or a fun'al, I makes many as fifty."
The passage was soon made, and the duke stepped out on the west bank.
"Is there any path leading to the top of this ridge, Uncle—Lemuel?" inquired the duke.