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[Illustration: "I'VE SPILT THE SOUP, AND BROKE THE JUG."]
LITTLEBOURNE LOCK.
BY
F. BAYFORD HARRISON,
Author of "Brothers in Arms;" "Battlefield Treasure;"
"Missy;" &c.
_ILLUSTRATED._
LONDON:
BLACKIE & SON, LIMITED, 49 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
GLASGOW, EDINBURGH, AND DUBLIN.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
CHAP. Page
I. THE LOCK-HOUSE, 7
II. NO. 103, 19
III. JULIET MITCHELL, 32
IV. THE "PRETTY CHURCHYARD," 44
V. ON THE RIVER, 59
VI. MISSING! 73
VII. FOUND! 80
VIII. BETTERING HERSELF, 93
IX. BACK IN LONDON, 108
X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE "TURKEYS PIN," 120
XI. A THOROUGH CHANGE, 135
XII. A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY. 150
* * * * *
LITTLEBOURNE LOCK.
CHAPTER I.
THE LOCK-HOUSE.
The mist of a July morning shrouded the river and its banks. It was a
soft thin mist, not at all like a winter fog, and through it, and high
above it, the sun was shining, and the larks singing; and Edward
Rowles, the lock-keeper, knew well that within an hour or two the
brightest sunshine would gladden England's river Thames.
He came out from his house, which was overgrown with honeysuckle and
clematis, and he looked up the stream and down the stream, and then at
the weir over which the water tumbled and roared; he saw that
everything was all right after its night's rest. So he put his hands
in his pockets, and went round to the back of the house to see how his
peas and beans were conducting themselves. They were flourishing. Next
he looked at some poultry in a wired-off space; they seemed very glad
to see him, even the little chickens having good appetites, and being
ready for their breakfasts.
After this inspection Edward Rowles went indoors again, and looked at
his son Philip, who was still asleep in his little camp-bed in the
corner of the sitting-room.
"Get up, lad, get up," said the father; "don't be the last."
Philip opened his eyes and rubbed them, and within a few minutes was
washing and dressing.
In the meantime Mrs. Rowles was lighting the fire in the kitchen,
filling the kettle with water from the well, getting down bread and
butter from a shelf, and preparing everything for the morning meal.
Presently there appeared a little girl, Emily by name, who slept in a
tiny attic all by herself, and who was very slow in dressing, and
generally late in coming down.
"Come, bustle about, Emily," said her mother. "Here, this slice of
bread is very dry, so toast it, and then it will be extra nice."
Emily obeyed. Philip got a broom and swept out the kitchen; Mr. Rowles
brought in a handful of mustard-and-cress as a relish for
bread-and-butter. And soon they were all seated at the table.
"Not a boat in sight," said Mr. Rowles; "nor yet a punt."
"It is early yet," replied his wife; "wait until the first train from
London comes in."
"Like enough there will be folks come by it," rejoined Rowles; "they
must be precious glad to get out of London this hot day."
"Why must they be glad, father?" asked Philip.
"Because London is awful hot in hot weather; it seems as if it had not
got enough air for all the folks to breathe that live in it. Millions
of people, Philip. Write down a million on your slate, boy."
Philip brought his slate and pencil and wrote 1,000,000.
"Write it over again, and twice more. Now that seems a good many, eh?
Well, there are more people in London than all those millions on your
slate. What do you think of that?"
The boy had no idea at all of what a million of people would look
like, nor a million of lemon drops, nor a million of anything. He did
not even try to gain an idea on the subject.
"Mother," said Emily, "does Aunt Mary live in London? And Albert and
Juliet and Florry and Neddy--and--and all the others."
"Yes, poor things! they live in London."
"And they don't like hot days in London?"
"Hot days must be better than cold ones. I say, Rowles," and his wife
turned to him and spoke in a gentler tone, "do you know I have been
thinking so much lately about Mary and all of them. It is a long time
since we had a letter. I wonder if it is all right with them."
"As right as usual, I'll be bound," said Rowles gruffly.
"I've a sort of feeling on me," Mrs. Rowles pursued, "that they are
not doing well. The saying is, that no news is good news; but I'm not
so sure of that--not always."
"Mary went her own way," said the lock-keeper, "and if it turns out
the wrong way it is no business of mine. When a woman marries a fine,
stuck-up London printer, who works all night on a morning paper and
sleeps half the day, what can you expect? Can you expect good health,
or good temper, or good looks from a man who turns night into day and
day into night?"
"Children, run and give these crumbs and some barley to the chickens.
Now, Rowles, you know very well that I never did join you in your
dislike to Thomas Mitchell. Printing was his trade, and there must be
morning papers I suppose, and I daresay he'd like to work by day and
sleep by night if he could. I think your sister Mary made a mistake
when she married a Londoner, after being used to the country where you
_can_ draw a breath of fresh air. And I'm afraid that Tom's money
can't be any too much for eight children living, and two put away in
the cemetery, pretty dears! And I was just thinking to myself that it
would seem friendly-like if I was to journey up to London and see how
they are getting on. It is less trouble than writing a letter."
"It costs more," said Rowles.
A long, distant whistle was heard.
"There they come!" and Rowles rose from his chair, and took his burly
figure out into the garden-plot which lay between the cottage and the
lock.
Mrs. Rowles followed him, saying, "There is a train at 10.22; and if I
leave the dinner all ready you can boil the potatoes for yourself."
"What do you want to go for, at all? Women are always gadding about,
just to show off their bonnets, or to look at other people's. Here
they come--two of them!" he added.
For two steam launches, whistling horribly, were coming up, and
required that the lock should be opened for them.
Nothing gave Philip and Emily more pleasure than to help their father
open the lock-gates. They liked going to school, and they liked
playing with their friends, but opening the lock-gates, and then
watching them as they closed, was more delightful than any other kind
of work or play.
Philip knew that a river on which large boats and barges went to and
fro must be kept up by locks, or it would run away so fast that it
would become too shallow for any but small boats. Littlebourne lock is
built from one bank of the river to an island in it. There are great
wooden gates, opened by great wooden handles; but to explain how a
lock is made and worked would be difficult, though it is easily
understood when examined. Philip and Emily had lived nearly all their
lives in Littlebourne lock-house, and they knew more about boating and
such matters than old men and women who live all their lives in
London.
The two little steamers came into the lock as soon as Rowles, assisted
by his children, opened the lower gate. The men on them talked to
Rowles while the lock was being filled by the water, which came
through the sluices in the upper gate.
Philip listened to this talk; but Emily went up to the other gate. Her
father and brother did not notice what she was doing. They came
presently and opened the upper gates, talking all the time to the men
on the launches. Then they heard cries.
"Look out! take care! keep in!"
Emily's voice sounded shrill and terrified.
"This side! this side!" she was crying wildly; and she jumped about on
the bank of the island as if frightened at something in the water.
Rowles ran to the place. The first launch was just coming out of the
lock, closely followed by the other. Across the narrow piece of water
just outside the lock was a rowing boat. In it was one man. He looked
scared, for the nose of his boat was stuck in the bank of the island,
and the stern had swung round almost to the opposite bank. The man was
standing up with a scull in his hands, poking at the bank near the
bows; and at every poke his boat went further across the narrow
stream, and was in imminent danger of being cut in two or swamped, or
in some way destroyed by the foremost launch.
"Ah, they are at it again!" cried Rowles; "these cockney boatmen, how
they do try to drown themselves! Hold hard!" he shouted to the
engineer of the launch.
And the engineer of that steamer did try to hold hard, but the man
behind him did not see what was the matter, or that anything was the
matter, and therefore he kept his engines going, and pressed close
behind on the foremost launch.
Fortunately Rowles had in his hand a long pole with which to push
small boats in and out of the lock. With this he caught the side of
the endangered craft, and would have drawn it into safety, but the
occupant of it flourished his scull about in so foolish a manner that
he hindered what Rowles was trying to do, and all the time--which
was but a couple of minutes--the launches were slowly bearing down
upon him.
Philip had seized an oar which was lying by, Emily had caught up a
clothes-line; Philip pushed his oar at the man in the boat, Emily
threw him the end of her rope. Rowles had at length caught the side of
the boat with the hook at the end of his pole, and brought it close to
the bank.
The man gave a spring to get out on dry land. Of course his boat went
away from him, nearly jerking Rowles into the water. As for the
awkward creature himself, he fell on his knees on the plank edging of
the bank, and his feet dangled in the stream. The launch went on
again, crushing the rudder of the small boat.
It required the help of Rowles and Philip to pull the man up on his
feet, and get him to believe that he was safe. He staggered up the
bank to the pathway on the top of it, and gasped for breath.
"That--that--was a narrow shave!" said he.
"Ay, for them that goes out fooling in a white shirt," said Mr.
Rowles.
"It is only my feet that are wet," remarked the stranger, beginning to
recover his colour; "and I did not know there was any harm in a white
shirt."
"No harm in the shirt if the man who wore it knew what he was about.
Why, I've seen them go out in frock-coats and tall hats and kid
gloves. I've seen them that did not know bow from stern; and then,
when they are drowned, they are quite surprised."
"I don't know much about boating," returned the man; "but my gentleman
said he thought I had better practise a bit, because he will want me
to row him about of an evening. Well, another time I will keep out of
the way of the steam-launches."
"You had better, sir. And put off your coat, and your waistcoat, and
your watch and chain, and rig yourself out in a flannel shirt and a
straw hat. And, pray, how are you going to get home?"
At this moment Mrs. Rowles came to the door, shading her eyes with her
hand, for the sun was now bright and hot, and calling out "Phil--lip!
Em--ily! time to be off."
The girl threw down her rope and obeyed her mother's call, but Philip
lingered. He could not make out who and what the stranger might be.
That person said, "Perhaps, Mr. Rowles, you would let your boy come
with me just to put me in the right way."
"No, no; he is going to school. You be off, Phil, before I look at you
again."
So, rather unwillingly, Philip also retreated into the house, from
whence he and Emily presently emerged with their books, and
disappeared across the fields in the direction of the village, where
their company was requested by the schoolmaster and the schoolmistress
until four o'clock, with a long interval for dinner and play.
"I would let him go with you if it was not for his schooling,"
remarked Mr. Rowles; "but he must waste no time if he wants to get the
prize. You won't get a prize for rowing. Why, some of them that comes
here don't know what you mean by feathering!"
The stranger looked very humble. He was a middle-aged man of ordinary
appearance, but extremely neat in his dress. His cloth clothes were
all of spotless black, his necktie was black with a small white spot;
he showed a good deal of fine shirt-front, and a pair of clean cuffs.
Then his hair was carefully cut, and he had trimmed whiskers, but no
beard or moustache. His hands were not those of a working-man, nor had
they the look of those of a gentleman. Edward Rowles could not make
him out.
"I'm sure you are not a boating man," said he.
"Oh, no! oh, dear no! I never rowed a boat before. Though I have been
at sea: I have crossed the Channel with Mr. Burnet. But not rowing
myself, of course."
"Who's Mr. Burnet?" asked Rowles.
"We are staying at the hotel," replied the stranger; "and what's more,
I must be getting back, for he likes his breakfast at a quarter-past
ten sharp. Can I get back another way? Can't I go down that river?"
He pointed up the stream which came swirling from the weir.
"No," said Rowles, "you can't go up the weir-stream, any more than you
could leap a donkey over a turnpike-gate. Get into your boat, and pull
yourself quietly up under the left-hand bank."
"I have no rope to pull it by," said the stranger meekly.
"They come down here," remarked Rowles with infinite contempt, and
speaking to the river, "and don't know what you mean by pulling. They
think it is the same as towing. If you'd rather tow your boat I will
lend you a line, provided that you promise faithfully to return it. It
is the missus's clothes-line. And you will keep her close under the
bank of the towing-path, and you will pass under all the other lines
which you meet. Do you see?"
"Oh, yes, thank you," said the stranger, anxious to be off. "My name
is Roberts, with Mr. Burnet at the hotel; and you shall have the rope
back again."
"Tie it round the bow thwart, as you have no mast," said Rowles.
Mr. Roberts stared.
"There, stand aside, I'll do it for you. They sit on a thwart and
don't know what it is, half of them."
Grumbling and fumbling, Rowles at length got Roberts across the
lock-gates and put the line into his hands, telling him to look out
for barges and rapids; and then the stranger set off on his return
journey, and Rowles went into his house to tell his wife that he
thought they were a stupider lot this summer than ever they had been
before.