"I thought you were going to get some sassafras for your mother," added Paul, who had by this time come to the conclusion that his visitor was as queer as the craft upon which he had come.
"I guess I'll git it another time. I want to go over to Westport to see a feller I know there."
"But I can't bring you back, for my sister is coming with me, and the boat won't carry more than two," answered Paul, supposing this would end the matter.
"All right; I will stay with the feller I know all night," replied the accommodating stranger. "I'll help you row the boat over."
Paul was quite willing to have the queer fellow go with him, even if he had to row all the way himself, for the flatboat worked better with two in her than with one. Without a passenger she was too deep in the water forward, and dug her nose into the wave. He had not the least idea who his visitor was, but did not believe he had given his right name. If he had known him, he would have given him the cold shoulder at once.
"I am not ready to go yet; I have to fix up the boat a little," continued Paul, as he laid the oars on the beach.
"How long before you can go? I don't want to wait all day, Bristol Brick," added Tom.
"You needn't wait one minute if you don't wish to," replied Paul, who wondered in what school of politeness his involuntary companion had been brought up. "I am going to wash out the boat and let her dry a little before I go."
"What's the use of washing her out? She is clean enough for any feller to eat his dinner in," growled Tom.