An hour before sunset, while skirting the Indiana shore, I passed a little village called Batesville, and soon after came to the mouth of a crooked creek, out of which, borne on the flood of a freshet, came a long, narrow line of drift stuff.  Just within the mouth of the creek, in a deep indenture of the high bank, a shanty-boat was snugly lashed to the trees.  A young man stood in the open doorway of the cabin, washing dishes, and as I passed he kindly wished me a “Merry Christmas,” inviting me on board.  He eagerly inspected the sneak-box, and pronounced it one of the prettiest “tricks” afloat.  “How my father and brother would like to see you and your boat!” exclaimed he.  “Can’t you tie up here, just under yonder p’int on the bank?  There’s an eddy there, and the drift won’t work in enough to trouble you.”

The invitation so kindly given was accepted, and with the assistance of my new acquaintance my boat was worked against the strong current into a curve of the bank, and there securely fastened.  I set to work about my house-keeping cares, and had my cabin comfortably arranged for the night, when I was hailed from the shanty-boat to “come aboard.”  Entering the rough cabin, a surprise greeted me, for a table stood in the centre of the room, covered with a clean white cloth, and groaning under the weight of such a variety of appetizing dishes as I had not seen for many a day.

“I thought,” said the boy, “that you hadn’t had much Christmas to-day, being as you’re away from your folks; and we had a royal dinner, and there’s lots left fur you—­so help yourself.”  He then explained that his father and brother had gone to a shooting-match on the other side of the river; and when I expressed my astonishment at the excellent fare, which, upon closer acquaintance, proved to be of a dainty nature (game and delicate pastry making a menu rather peculiar for a shanty-boat), he informed me that his brother had been first cook on a big passenger steamer, and had received good wages; but their mother died, and their father married a second time, and—­Here the young fellow paused, evidently considering how much of their private life he should show to a stranger.  “Well,” he continued, “our new mother liked cities better than flatboats, and father’s a good quiet man, who likes to live in peace with every one, so he lets mother live in Arkansas, and he stays on the shanty-boat.  We boys joined him, fur he’s a good old fellow, and we have all that’s going.  We git plenty of cat-fish, buffalo-fish, yellow perch, and bass, and sell them at the little towns along the river.  Then in summer we hire a high flat ashore,—­not a flatboat,—­I mean a bit of land along the river, and raise a crop of corn, ’taters, and cabbage.  We have plenty of shooting, and don’t git much fever ’n ager.”

I had rowed fifty-three miles that day, and did ample justice to the Christmas dinner on the flatboat.  The father and brother joined us in the evening, and gave me much good advice in regard to river navigation.  The rain fell heavily before midnight, and they insisted that I should share one of their beds in the boat; but as small streams of water were trickling through the roof of the shanty, and my little craft was water-tight, I declined the kindly offer, and bade them good-night.