“I like the name, just as it is,” I said.

“Do yer?” inquired the Captain.  “Well, there’s no accountin’ for tastes, as the man said when he found the monkey eatin’ glue.”

This seemed to be a joke on me.  Ed and Jimmy joined the Captain in laughing, and I felt rather put down.  But we soon had something else to think of, for we went on another tack to enter Sandy Island River.  A bridge crossed this river, not far from the mouth, and the draw had to be turned to let us through.  Ed Mason got a long fish-horn from the cabin, and began to blow it.  After a while the old draw-tender, who lived in a shanty, quarter of a mile away, came hobbling up the road.  He slowly swung open the draw, and then, as we approached the bridge, peered down at us.

“This yer new boat, Lem?” said he to the Captain.

“This is her, right enough,” said our skipper.

“Sets kinder high in the water, don’t she?”

The aged draw-tender had the air of a man who was expected to find fault, and was quite able to do it.

“Hadn’t noticed it,” replied the Captain, shortly.

He was attending closely to sailing the boat through the narrow gap in the bridge.  The old man cackled.

“Guess you’ll find, when you git her outside, that them boys ’ll wish you had some more ballast in her.”

Then he caught sight of the name on the stern.

“Hopper-grass!  Hoppergrass!  Where didger git that air name, Lem?  Invent it yerself?”

“No, I didn’t,” said the Captain.  He was very much irritated, and he did not look around.

“Well, then, if ‘taint yer own inventin’, I jes as soon tell yer—­ if yer ask me,—­that it’s the most ding-busted, tom-fool name I ever see on a cat-boat in all my born days.”

“Well, I didn’t ask yer,” shouted Captain Bannister, “an’ it don’t matter two cents to me what you think.”

The ancient cackled again.  Either he was deaf, or else he was pretending not to hear, in order to thorn the Captain.  He kept on with his remarks.

“Yessir, the very WUST I ever see on the stern of a boat.  That’s what I think, Lem, an’ you can take it or leave it.”

There was nothing to do but leave it, for we had already left the bridge behind, and were feoon too far away to hear the critic’s remarks.  He continued to give us his opinion, however, for we could see his jaw move, though we could not make out a single word he said.

This river was very different from the main stream.  Narrow and muddy, it ran between high banks which were covered with marsh grass.  There were sudden twists and turns, so that we never knew what might be ahead of us.  Sometimes we sailed so near the shore that the boom swept along the bank, brushing the grass.  Once we turned a corner suddenly, and started up four crows, who were pecking at a dead fish, and in another place a big crane jumped clumsily up from a pool, and flapped heavily away.  The dark, muddy water boiled up in thousands of bubbles in our wake.