Mandy sat radiant in the little bow-seat, as the boat pushed off. A great Albany "tow" was passing,—a whole fleet of barges and canal-boats lashed together,—with calves and sheep bellowing and bleating, cables creaking, clothes flapping on the lines; a big steamboat, with a freight-barge under each wing, plowing the water on ahead, and sending the waves chasing each other in shore.
The little boat danced gayly on the "rollers." A fresh wind blew toward them, and brought with it a shout of "Boat ahoy! Hello, Cap'n! Got any good stuff aboard?"
"Got some good cider," the "Cap'n" called in reply, with strong emphasis on the last word.
"Come alongside, then!"
The "Cap'n" condescended to lean a little on his oars in pursuit of a bargain, and sent the little boat spinning over the water toward one of the barges in the rear part of the "tow."
Some men in a row were lounging over the rail; one of them threw a rope, which hissed and splashed close to the boat. Perry caught it, and they were soon under the lee of the floating village.
While the store was unlocked, and its wares handed out, Mandy noticed, on the deck above, a woman washing a little boy three or four years old. He stood in an old wooden pail, with a rope tied to the handle,—his little white body, all naked and slippery, shining in the sun. One could hardly help noticing him, he screamed so lustily as the water was dashed over his head and shoulders.
Mandy saw how his face showed red and flushed with crying, under the dripping yellow locks.
She thought uneasily of the baby, lying all alone on the old dock; wondered if the sun had got round so as to shine in his face, and how long the "Cap'n" would stand there, talking with those men. She was happy again when the boat dropped behind and the "Cap'n" turned toward the shore.
"Perry," he said, "just look at my watch—there in my weskit-pocket on the starn-seat. What time's it got to be?"