Near him stood a stalwart boy about Harry's own age.

They were in the middle of a raft which had been pulled to the south side of the Kentucky and then tied to the shore.
Harry started to speak, but the words stopped at his lips.

His weakness was still great.
"Wa'al," said the man, whimsically.

"What was it?
Sooicide?
Or did you fall in the river, bein' awkward?
Or was you tryin' to swim the stream, believin' it was fun to do it?
What do you think, Ike ?" "It wasn't no sooicide," replied the youth whom he had called Ike.
"Boys don't kill theirse'ves.

An' it wasn't no awkwardness, 'cause he don't look like the awkward kind.