They had gone aboard to see about the fire, and Maurice was lying
on a bed of dead grass and moss looking into the glowing depths of
the fire and allowing his thoughts to go out to the wonderful
possibilities of the beckoning future, with Uncle Ambrose as the
good fairy who was to lead him into strange lands that he had
always wanted to see, when a bit of turf falling upon his arm
caused him to suddenly glance upward.

To his surprise and a little to his consternation he beheld three
black faces surveying him from over the edge of the bank; nor did
he fancy the expression that could be seen upon the said
countenances.

Upon seeing that their presence was no longer unknown to the boy
below, the trio of darkies dropped over the bank.

Closer inspection failed to add to the good opinion of Maurice,
for the fellows bore all the earmarks of desperadoes, possibly
belonging to that class of nomads who prowl along the shores of
these western rivers, picking up a living by doing odd jobs, and
stealing whenever they think it can be done with safety.

"Hello, boss! Done takin' it easy, I spects. Got any 'jections ter
weuns warmin' up a little by dat fiah? Gittin' powful cold, boss,
an' it jes' happens we ain't got nary a match in our clo's, dat's
a fack," said the leader, advancing eagerly and holding out his
hands toward the blaze.

"Why, of course not, boys; make yourselves at home. I was just
going aboard anyway, and the fire's yours," remarked Maurice,