“My name is Janet Rainsford, and Squire Boarders is not my father,” said I, some of my sullenness returning.

“If you will take me, Janet,” said he, with the frank, open-hearted tone which had won my step-father the night before,—­a tone before which my sullenness melted.

I jumped in, and, letting him pass me before I threw off the rope, sculled the little dug-out into the middle of the river.  No boatman on the Sandy was more skilful than I in the management of the little vessel, for in it most of my leisure time had been passed for the last year or two.  My step-mother had scolded, my father grumbled, and the farmers’ wives and daughters had shaken their heads and “allowed that Janet Rainsford would come to no good, if she was let fool about here and there, like a boy.”  But on that point I was incorrigible; the boat was my one escape from my daily drudgery, and late at night and early in the morning I went up and down among the shoals and bars, under the trees and over the ripples, till every turn of the current was familiar to me.  I knew all the boatmen, too, up and down the river, would pull along-side their rafts or pushing-boats, and get from them a slice of their corn-bread or a cup of coffee, or at least a pleasant word or jest.  And none but pleasant words did I ever receive from the rough, but honorable men whom I met.  They respected, as the roughest men will always do, my lonely girlhood, and felt a sort of pride in the daring, adventurous spirit that I showed.

My knowledge of the river stood Mr. Hammond in good stead that morning, as soon as I understood that he was looking for a place where his men could land easily.  It was only to sweep round a small bluff that jutted into the river, and carry the skiff into the mouth of Nat’s Creek, where the bank sloped gradually down to the water from a level bit of meadow-land that extended back some rods before the hills began to rise.  Mr. Hammond leaped out.

“The very place,—­and here, on this point, shall be my saw-mill.  I’ll run the road through here and up the creek to the mining-ground, and build my store under the ledge there, and my shanties on each side the road.”

I caught his enthusiasm, and, my shyness all gone, I found myself listening and suggesting; more than that, I found my suggestions attended to.  I knew the river well; I knew what points of land would be overflowed in the June rise; I knew how far the backwater would reach up the creek; I knew the least obstructed paths through the woods; I could even tell where the most available timber was to be found.  I felt, too, that my knowledge was appreciated.  George Hammond had that one best gift that belongs to all successful leaders, whether of armies, colonies, or bands of miners:  he recognized merit when he saw it.  From that morning a feeling of self-respect dawned upon me, I was not so altogether ignorant as I had thought myself, I had some available knowledge; and with that feeling came the determination to raise myself out of that slough of despond into which I had fallen the night before.