The Clio messenger. (Clio, Mich.) 1907-current, 1913-10-24
mag" RUNS A FERRY
Steered Raft Across Hudson for
Twenty Years.
Smokes corncob Pipe, but Was
Musician and Still Loves the
Books She Retalns-ls the
Daughter Of a Preacher.

new 1Ork.-IlmeS nave CndnSeu
since Charon had the monopoly or
ferrying. One Of the pioneers Is a
ferry woman OF long experience and
superior ability; she has steered her
raft from shore to shore of the Hud-
son river for twenty years or more.
The traveller who comes to the
rivers edge near Mechanicsville, wish
ing to be ferried over to the farms
and villages beyond, Is puzzled for
way to summon the raft at anchor on
the other side. 1t Is SO quiet and
beautiful place in the MONDAY still
ter foreign to the business OF the day,
and for moment the stranger looks
about him. He sees only green fields
of farm lands, misty willows by the
water, red and blue flowers in warm,
hectic bunches-and horn hanging
on q nail on an old elm by the dock.
The raft comes slowly zigzagging
across, held to it's course by cable,
and Mag appears, shading her eyes
with knotty, brown hand for good
look at the newly arrived. She is a
woman between seventy and eighty,
wearing mans hat, mems boots, and
a cotton dress. Her dark face is
wrinkled, shrewd and humorous.
wal, who be we, where be We from,
and where be We going?" Is her greet
ing, as she docks. AS they move
across the river, Mag puts him
through the third degree. and gossips
lavishly about his destination and all
the families for miles around, never
failing to put blame or praise where
1t belongs.
Come down to my cabin tonight
and we'll talk some more" she calls
after him as he starts up the HILL IF
you're from Boston / guess we know
some o. the same things. and I'll be
glad to see ye."
And he who is from Boston, being
interested In his fellow townspeople,
as well as his fellowman, goes walking
far down the river bank in the dusk
to the little cabin. Mag is on the
doorstep, smoking her odorous corn
cob pipe. But their conversation is
not news to him, for he has heard the
history Of the woman through the day.
Mag, once Margaret, was the daugh-
ter Of a Boston clergyman. She was
musician, and, for a time. was or
ganist of her fathers church. The
man looked at Mag as she sat, smok-
ing, on her doorstep, and thought of
the refined and charming young wom-
an Of whom he had been told. Mar
garet had married farmer, and had
come to live In New York state. The
farmer was not successful one; he
was lazy. His wife's life was hard.
She drifted with the tide, and finally
she ferried the farmers from shore
to shore, lived alone in the cabin by
the river, and was again independent.
Their evening was interesting; she
showed him her house-an odd mix
ture Of the unkempt and a former
taste for the beau full and worth
while. A few good books were in the
house. its best possession. They
walked down the bank to the place
where an opening in the trees showed
another cabin on the other side of the
river. That's where he lives" she
said, shortly.
"Who?"
old Ben. He's my husband"
Her conversation was made up of
bits of wisdom, acute knowledge of
human nature, defiance of the world,
mixed with a certain usefulness for
its approval, and an astonishing desire
TO know what was happening in that
world-somewhat mixed and un-
pruned, but knowledge for all that She
was greedy for news. Her love for
books and music was a deep and for
hidden subject. After the guest had
gone, Mag caught her fish for break
fast, In the river.
In the morning she was on hand to
ferry him over.
Good by, Mr.. Boston, she said.
I'm going to shake hands with We.
So you're from Boston and you're go
ing back! Wal, I'm going to stay right
here. I'm independent, and I'm about
as hap--y as any one Is in this world"
She gave a Quizzical glance; then
released the raft and began another
zigzag crossing.