“Anna Jones, outa Soddy. I’m a-takin’ ’er to ’er Aunt Jinny Alscot up Ducktown way. Anna, this’s Cap’n Clem. He’s in charge of this here ferry.”

“That Jinny?” The man’s eyes widened. “Tarnation! Wall, then, no charge fer extree passenger. I’d’a not be on the water without Jinny Alscot’s potions.” He held out a greasy paw to Anna, who shook it with no hesitation, since he seemed to know and be respectful of Aunt Jinny.

“Permission t’throw a line off th’ stern, cap’n?” Jeb asked with a grin. Clem grinned back.

“Yore th’ on’y man I know what asks permission, or calls me cap’n,” the cap’n replied. “Permission granted. Jest don’t foul the rudder.”

Jeb took something out from under the bench seat on the wagon, and the two willow rods from the back. The “something” proved to be a cigar box with a couple lengths of string wrapped up neat, and other oddments. Meanwhile Clem bustled about, pulling off ropes from logs holding the front and rear of the ferry to the dock, then vanished into the cabin. The smoke turned from white to black, the chuffing sound increased, the wheel on the side of the raft started to thrash the water, and the whole thing started to move.

Anna glued herself even tighter to the cabin. Jeb held out his hand. “Come along, missy,” he coaxed. “Y’all ain’t gonna fall off. And even if y’all did, water’s still as a glass here. Y’all could swim back to the ferry easy as pie.”

“But I cain’t swim!” she wailed.

“Then I won’t let y’all fall in,” he said reasonably. “Lookit Daisy! She’s so easy she’s a-fallin’ asleep!”

She turned her head nervously to see that he was right; the mule was standing hipshot with all her weight on her left leg, her head hanging comfortably, her eyes closed.

Still so terrified her knees shook, she took Jeb’s hand and let him lead her to the rear of the contraption. There he rolled up his pants legs, sat down on the edge of the raft, and went to work with his string, a willow rod, and a cork, the pasty edge, and a fishing hook—and now she knew what he was doing. In a moment he had a fishing rod all set up, with a cork for a bobber and a blob of dough made from crushed crust and crick water on the hook. He handed her the rod.

Gingerly she sat down beside him, with her legs crossed under her skirt.

“Jest drop th’ hook inter th’ water and let out the string while y’all hold the rod,” said Jeb patiently. “When y’all feel a fish pull on’t, lemme know an’ I’ll take it from there.”

He did the same for his own rod, and after a while, under the warm sun and the mesmerizing, slowly changing view of the shore passing beside them, she finally relaxed. So that when she suddenly did feel a strong tug on the rod, she yelped.