Dotty had never seen an eel. Like a coal mine, a pearl, a Guinea pig, a drunken man, and a chègre, she supposed an eel was peculiar to the climate, and could be found nowhere but out West. As it had been described as being "really a fish, but looking more like a snake," she did not expect to be very much charmed with its personal appearance. She wished to catch one, or see one caught, because it would be something to tell Prudy.
There was no moon, and the night was cloudy.
"My son, be sure you take good care of your cousin," said Mrs. Clifford, the last thing.
"So funny!" Dotty thought. "They don't seem to think there's anybody else in this world but just me!"
Horace carried with him some light wood, and, when they reached the river bank, kindled a bright fire.
"We'll make things look friendly and pleasant," said he; "and by and by Mr. Eel will walk along to the fire, and ask if we entertain travellers. 'If so,' says he, 'you may count me in.'"
"How dried up the river looks!" said Dotty.
"That is because the draymen have taken so much water out of it, little cousin. Haven't you seen them going by with barrels?"
"I shouldn't think the mayor'd 'low them to do it, Horace; for some time there won't be any river left."
"It's too bad to impose upon you," said Horace, laughing; "I was only joking." Dotty drew herself up with so much dignity that she nearly fell backward into the fire.