The Story of Antony Grace. Fenn George Manville

how pleasant it would be to lie down on that black tarpaulin, and glide along upon the shiny river without a care; and it seemed to me then, ill-used and weary as I was, that the life of a bargeman would be perfect happiness and bliss.

      As I drew near the boy, who was sitting sidewise on the foremost horse, with a shallow round-bottomed zinc bucket hanging from the collar on the other side, I found that he was watching me as he whistled some doleful minor ditty, pausing every now and then to crack his whip and utter a loud “Jeet!”

      This was evidently a command to the horses, one of which gave its head a toss up and the other a toss down, but paid no further heed, both continuing their steady way along the tow-path, while the boy went on with his whistling.

      I gradually drew up closer and closer, as the whistling kept on, to find that about every minute, as if calculated exactly, but of course from mere habit, there was the crack of the whip, the loud “Jeet?” and the nod up and nod down of the two horses.

      I trudged up close alongside the boy now, being anxious to learn where the river really did run, but not liking at first to show my ignorance, so we went on for some time in silence.

      He was a rough, common-looking lad, with fair curly hair, and the skin of his face all in scaly patches where it had been blistered by the sun, and I took him to be about my own age. He was dressed in a loose jacket and a pair of cord trousers, both of which were several sizes too large for him, but the jacket-sleeves had been cut off above the elbow, and the trousers were rolled up above his knees, showing his bare legs and clean white feet. His coarse shirt was clean, what could be seen of it, but the tops of the trousers were drawn up by strings over his shoulders, so that they took the place of vest.

      Altogether, even to his old, muddy, torn felt hat, through which showed tufts of his curly hair, he was ragged to a degree; but he seemed as happy as the day was long and as healthy as could be, as he whistled away, stared at me, and uttered another loud “Jeet!” going a little further this time, and making it “Jeet, Sammy – jeet, Tommair-y!”

      The horses this time tightened the rope a little, but only for a few moments, when it fell back into the water with a plash, the barge glided on, the horses’ hoofs crushed the sandy gravel, and the rope whisked and rustled as it brushed along the thick growth of sedge by the water-side.

      “Woss the matter with yer foot, matey?” said the boy at last, breaking the ice as he gave his whip another crack, and then caught and examined the thong.

      “Sore with walking,” I said; and then there was another pause, during which he kept on whistling the minor air over and over again, while I waited for another opening.

      “Why don’t you take off your shoes, matey?” he said. “They allus makes my feet sore. I don’t like shoes. Jeet, Tommair-y! Jeet, Sam-mair-y?”

      This was a new light, and I thought, perhaps, I should be easier, for one shoe was constantly scraping the tendon at the back of my heel. So sitting down on the grass, I untied and slipped off my shoes, my socks following, to be thrust into my pocket, and I limped on, setting my feet delicately on the gravel, which hurt them, till I changed on to the short soft turf beside the path.

      The barge had passed me, but I soon overtook it, and then reached the boy, who watched me complacently as I trudged on, certainly feeling easier.

      “One on ’ems a-bleeding,” said my new friend then. “Shoes allus hurts. Jeet!”

      “Yes, when you walk far,” I said, the conversation beginning to warm now.

      “Walked far, matey?”

      “Yes, ever so far. Have you come far?”

      “Pistol,” I thought he said.

      “Where?” I asked.

      “Bristol. Jeet, Sammy!” Crack!

      “All along by the river?”

      “We don’t call it the river, we call it the canal here. It’s river farther up towards London.”

      “Are you going to London?” I said.

      “Yes. Are you?”

      “Yes,” I said; and my heart was at rest, for I knew now that which I wanted to find out without asking. This river did go right to London, and I must be on the upper part of the Thames.

      We went on for some little time in silence, and then my new friend began:

      “Why don’t you go and paddle yer feet in the water a bit?”

      It was a good suggestion, and the shallow sparkling water looked very delicious and cool.

      “Tie your shoestrings together and hing ’em on to Tommy’s collar. You can hing yer bundle, too, if yer li-ak.”

      I hesitated for a moment. One boy had already appropriated my bundle, but he had not the frank honest look of the one on the horse, and besides, I did not like to seem suspicious. So, tying the shoestrings together, I hung them on the tall hame of the collar, and the bundle beside them, before going quickly over the gravel down to the shallow water.

      “Turn up yer trousers!” shouted the boy; and I obeyed his good advice, ending by walking along the shallow water close behind the tow-rope, the soft sand feeling delicious to my feet as the cool water laved and eased the smarting wound.

      At last I walked out with my feet rested, and the blood-stain washed away, to run forward and join my companion, who looked at me in a very stolid manner.

      “Hev a ride?” he said at last.

      “May I?”

      “Fey-ther!”

      “Hel-lo-a!” came slowly from the barge.

      “May this chap hev a ri-ad?”

      “Ay-er!”

      The boy slipped down off the horse with the greatest ease, and stuck his whip into a link of the trace.

      “Now, then,” he said, “lay holt o’ his collar, and I’ll give yer a leg up.”

      I obeyed him, and seizing my leg, he nearly shot me right over the horse, but by hanging tightly on to the collar I managed to save myself, and shuffled round into the proper position for riding sidewise, feeling the motion of the horse, in spite of a certain amount of boniness of spine, delightfully easy and restful.

      “They’re all right,” the boy said, as I glanced at my bundle. “They won’t fall off. Are yer comf’able?”

      “Yes, capital,” I said, and we journeyed on, my luck seeming almost too good to be believed.

      We went on talking away, now and then passing another barge, when the ropes were passed one over the other boat, and the journey continued.

      Soon afterwards I made my first acquaintance with a lock, and got down off the horse to stand by the barge and gaze in wonderment at the process. As it glided softly into the space between walls, a pair of great doors were shut behind it, and I and my new companion helped to turn handles, with the result that I saw the water foam and rush out, and the barge slowly sink down to a lower level, when a couple of great doors were swung open at the other end. There was a certain amount of pushing and thrusting, and the barge glided out into the river ten feet lower than it was before.

      Then the rope was once more made fast, the horses tugged, and we went on again, but not far before a shrill voice shouted “Jack!” and my companion stood still till the barge came abreast of him, being steered close in, when I saw a woman lean over the side and hold out a basket, which the boy caught, and then ran after me once more, where I was mounted on the first horse.

      “My dinner,” he said eagerly. “Got yourn?”

      “Yes,” I said, colouring up as I pulled the remains of my bread and cheese out of my pocket, there being a large piece of the latter.

      “Steak pudden to-day,” said my companion, hanging his basket on to the collar by my knee, and revealing a basin half full of savoury-odoured beef-steak pudding, which was maddening to me in my hungry state.

      “I say, what