Bargee slept soundly on his couch of empty corn-sacks; the lad was still lost in his story; the brown horse went slower and slower, pausing now and again to s.n.a.t.c.h a mouthful of gra.s.s from the bank beside his feet, until at length he stopped altogether, and, settling himself comfortably on three legs, he shut his eyes and prepared to follow his master's example.

The little ones were now some way in advance of the boat; but when they looked back and observed that boat and horse had come to a standstill, they agreed that they also might rest awhile, and joyfully threw themselves down upon the soft, cool meadow gra.s.s, taking good care to keep well out of sight of those other two afloat upon the ca.n.a.l.

"I's hungry--werry," said Joan, with a tired sort of sigh. "Isn't it never near dinner-time yet, Darby?"

"Yes, I think it must be by this time," replied Darby, looking knowingly in the direction of the sun, as he had seen Mr. Grey and Green the gardener do. "And if it isn't it ought, for I'm hungry too. Come, and we'll eat some of our biscuits and things."

"But there's no meat or potatoes or puddin'. It won't be real dinner wifout meat," grumbled Joan.

"Well, we can't have real dinner--pilgrims on a long journey never do--but we can make believe that we have. Won't that do instead, Joan?"

asked Darby anxiously.

"Yes, it'll do quite well--to-day," answered Joan, jumping up and beginning in true housewifely fashion to set out their repast.

From each child's pocket came a crumpled pocket-handkerchief, not very large, and, if the truth must be told, not over clean. These Joan spread on the gra.s.s to serve as a tablecloth. Then Darby proceeded to distribute the rations for the midday meal--to each a tiny tart, a slice of seed-cake, one biscuit, and a mellow russet pear.

"Now, isn't that a lovely dinner?" he demanded proudly; "and there's nearly--not quite, but almost--as much more for tea," he added, peering into the depths of the old reticule which was slung, haversack fashion, across his shoulders.

"Yes, it's 'licious," agreed Joan, with her mouth full of cracknel biscuit. Now cracknels are rather dry eating, and when one's mouth is otherwise occupied it is not easy to speak distinctly. However, the biscuit went over with an effort, and Joan's mouth was free for further speech. "It's a puffic'ly 'licious dinner," she repeated. "Why, if we'd been at home instead of goin' to the Happy Land, nurse would only have given us chops, and maybe rice and jam."

"Yes; she's always giving us things like that, and they've hardly any taste. When I'm big I'll never eat rice or mutton, but nice, nippy, mustardy meat, like what father used to give us from his dinners. We never get nothing like that now," sighed the little boy, as if he were very badly used indeed.

"It's because Aunt Catharine doesn't think they're good for you,"

replied Joan wisely. "I heard her tellin' cook to be sure an' give the chil'ens plenty of pow'idge, bread an' milk, an' lots of busted rice. I wonder why she calls the rice busted."

"It's not 'busted'," corrected Darby, laughing gleefully; "it's _burst_ you mean!"

"It doesn't matter which, I'm sure, for it's just nonsense to speak about rice bein' busted. It's us that's busted when we've eated great plates of it--nashty, messy stuff!" and Joan turned up her dainty little nose in disgust at what she was so tired of hearing called "plain, wholesome food."

Then she sighed heavily.

"What's the matter with you?" anxiously asked Darby. "Have you not had enough?"

"Yes, I've had enough--at least--it doesn't matter. I was only wishin'

we had a drink of milk. I don't want to be gweedy; but oh, I does want a drink so badly! I's so awful thirsty. 'Twas the biscuits, I'm sure,"

added Joan apologetically.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring any milk," said Darby regretfully.

"There's lots of water in the ca.n.a.l, of course. I could carry you some in my hat; but then I don't think it's very clean."

"I'm sure it looks all right," replied the little girl, grasping eagerly at her brother's idea. "It's brown, but see how it sparkles!"

"Come on, then, and I'll lift you out some," a.s.sented Darby. "But you mustn't take much, mind; just what will wash down that biscuit, for it _was_ dry!"

They crept up the bank of the ca.n.a.l in shelter of a sheaf of tall reeds.

Together they crouched upon the brink. Joan held Darby's hand fast while he leaned down and with his hat ladled her up a small measure of the doubtful-looking liquid, which she swallowed greedily and p.r.o.nounced the nicest water she had ever tasted--better even than milk.

Darby shook the moisture from his hat and waved it in the air to dry--backwards, forwards, round and round, faster and faster. It was almost dry. A few more turns would complete the process, and he twirled it quicker still, when all at once it went flying from his fingers, skimming right into the middle of the ca.n.a.l, hopelessly out of reach!

He gazed after it with such a blank look that Joan laughed gleefully.

Away it went, sailing slowly along, the blue ribbon trailing like a tail behind; on, on, farther and farther, until at length, behind a clump of osiers that hung over the bank and dipped into the water at a bend in the ca.n.a.l, the watchers lost sight of the gallant little craft--H.M.S.

_Dreadnought_!

"It's gone!" said Darby ruefully. "Well, it's a good thing that it was only an old one," he continued, in a cheerier tone. "I'm just as comfy without a hat. Perhaps it'll be to one of those big schools where the boys wear nothing on their head but their hairs that father will send me by-and-by, so I'd best be getting used to going without. And in the Happy Land hymn, although it tells about the robes--at least, I expect it's them that's 'bright, bright as day'--there's not a word about what they wear on their heads, except a crown, and one couldn't wear anything else along with that."

"I wants another drink," whimpered Joan after a pause, preparing to lay hands on Aunt Catharine's mushroom hat. "Take my hat, Darby; it'll hold lots and lots of water. That ho'wid old cracknel's stickin' in my froat yet," and she gasped piteously, like a chicken with the pip.

"Certainly not," answered Darby decisively, putting down his foot, so to speak, in his most masterful manner. "You can't have any more of that bad water. Don't you know it's very dangerous to drink bad water?

There's funny little beasts living in it called microscopes. They get into the blood and carry on dreadful. They give people fever, and typus, and palsy, and cholera-mortis, and--and--I don't know what all," and he took a long breath, having somewhat exhausted the supply along with his list of horrors. "I heard Dr. King telling Auntie Alice all about it one day."

Joan heard him out with open mouth and wondering eyes. How clever Darby was! He knew everything--almost! Her admiration was short-lived, however. Soon she returned to the charge, and with the skirt of her cotton frock at her eyes, she wailed anew,--

"I want a drink, I do, or my tea. Bo--o--o! I wants my tea!"

"Don't think any more about being thirsty, Joan, like a good girl,"

coaxed her brother, laying his arm lovingly round his little sister's shoulders. "That's the right way to do when you've got a pain or anything that won't get better--just pretend it's not there. Or we'll make believe that we've had our tea--although it's only done being dinner-time--and that nurse has just handed us our second cup, and, by mistake for her own, put four lumps of sugar in it. My, isn't it sweet!"

And Darby smacked his lips, but Joan did not lift her head. "Maybe we'll get some nice fresh water when we get into the barge," he added, seeing that his first tactics had failed. "And when we reach the Happy Land there'll be oceans of it--streams and streams of pure, sparkling water, clear as crystal! Think of that, Joan!"

The prospect, though pleasing, was too remote to satisfy Joan's immediate craving, or fancy rather, for she was not nearly so thirsty as she indicated, and she kept on whimpering,--

"Bo--o--o! I want a drink--I wants my tea!"

Darby always felt helpless when Joan went on crying in that persistent way, and he looked about him in despair. Then he started up in haste, at the same time dragging at his sister's hand.

"Come on!" he cried. "See, the horse has started; the _Smiling Jane_'s moving. They're a good way in front. We'll have to run a bit to catch up on them."

Thus opportunely diverted from brooding on her grievance, Joan quickly dried her eyes, trotted contentedly along by her brother's side, and soon they arrived quite close to the rude wharf, where the boat would stop long enough to deliver the goods intended for the village and take in some fresh cargo to be handed out at one of the hamlets further on.

As the boat came in a number of people were collected on the wharf waiting to receive their goods, because to this out-of-the-way place the ca.n.a.l-boat served instead of a carrier's cart; therefore all kinds of things--from bags of corn, tons of coal, sacks of potatoes, down to small packages--were sent and received by this route, and the arrival of bargee and his boat made quite a break in the uneventful lives of the inhabitants of that remote, far-scattered district. They chatted, laughed, shouted, and bandied jokes with each other and the bargeman, who had sprung from his craft the moment she was made fast to the wharf, and stamped about, up and down, as if he was glad to find himself with plenty of elbow-room once more.

In the hubbub and general bustle the children had little or no difficulty in stealing un.o.bserved on board the barge. They had been on her once before with a friendly old bargeman but recently retired to give place to a younger, more active man, who was a stranger on the route, consequently did not know the little folks from Firgrove. Darby drew Joan behind him, and making straight below for the bunker, called by courtesy the cabin, they curled themselves up on an old rug in its farthest, darkest corner, where, worn out with excitement and fatigue, they soon fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER VII.

HILL DIFFICULTY.

"He was a rat, and she was a rat, And down in one hole they did dwell; And both were as black as a witch's cat, And they loved one another well.

"He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese, And they both p.r.o.nounced it good; And both remarked it would greatly add To the charms of their daily food."

--_Anon._

The cargo for Ashville had been discharged, the stuff for Shendon stowed away. A fresh horse waited on the path; the gathering of people had scattered, carrying their goods and their gossip with them. The boy was feasting upon a hunch of bread and cheese, as a change from devouring his story. Bargee was in the act of stepping on board when a man laid a hand on his arm, and a rough voice arrested his steps. Two persons were standing beside him.