AT NEWMINSTER
'We come off pretty well,' said Chippy--'lost naught but my stick.'
'I'll show you where to out another afore we get to Newminster,' said
Mrs. Slade--'a place where my man often cuts a stick. 'Tis a
plantation of ashes on a bank lookin' to the north. Heavy, holdin'
ground, too--just the spot for slow-growin' tough timber.'
She went to the towpath once more to unstrap the tin bucket from the
horse's head, and set him to his task again.
'I fancy we shall have to stay somewhere in Newminster to-night,
Chippy,' said Dick.
Chippy grunted in a dissatisfied fashion. The Raven was very keen on
doing the trip for the smallest possible outlay of money. It seemed to
him so much more scoutlike to live on the country, as they were fond of
saying, and to pay for shelter did not seem to be playing the game.
Dick nodded. 'I know what you mean,' he said, for he had quite
understood Chippy's grunt. 'But we're bound to make Newminster, and
send off a card to show we've been in the town.'
'O' course,' said the Raven.
'And then it will be rather late to start off again and strike for the
open country to search for a camping-place.'
'Right, Dick--quite right,' rejoined his comrade; 'the wust of it is as
lodgin's cost money.'
'Needn't cost ye a single copper this night, anyhow,' said a voice in
their ears, and the scouts jumped. Mrs. Slade had come up unseen, and
had caught the last words of the Raven.
'Here y' are,' she went on, and pointed to the snug little cabin;
'that's yourn to-night if ye want it.'
'But you'll need it for yourselves,' cried Dick.
'Not this night,' she replied. 'I've got a married darter in
Newminster. She've a-married a wharfinger in a good way o' business.
Such a house as she've got! Upstairs, downstairs, an' a back-kitchen.'
Mrs. Slade visibly swelled in importance as she described her
daughter's palatial surroundings. No doubt they seemed very extensive
indeed after one small cabin. 'An' 'tis settled we stay wi' her
to-night, so the cabin 'ere will be empty, an' ye're as welcome to it
as can be.'
The scouts' eyes glistened, and they were easily induced to accept the
kindly offer, and so they glided on their way towards the town,
chatting together like old friends. Mrs. Slade pulled up for a moment
at the ash plantation, and Chippy sprang out with the tomahawk. In
five minutes he was back with a tough, straight ash-stick, which he
trimmed and whittled with his knife as they made the last mile into the
city.
At the wharf where the barge was to lie for the night they met Mr.
Slade, a short, thick-set man, with a short, broad face between a fur
cap and a belcher handkerchief. He was to the full as good-natured as
his wife, and cordially re-echoed her invitation for the scouts to
sleep in their cabin. The wharfinger's house was near at hand, so that
the owners of the barge would not be far away.
The scouts stowed their haversacks and staves away in the cabin of the
barge, shut it up, and locked it with the key which Mrs. Slade had lent
to them, and left the key at the wharfinger's house. Then they put on
their jackets and went for a stroll round the streets of the quaint old
city. The long summer evening was dying as they stood below the fine
west front of the cathedral, and watched the swallows skimming about
the noble towers. Near at hand was a post-office, where Dick
triumphantly scribbled, 'At Newminster. All well,' on a card, and
dropped it into the letter-box.
'Supper and turn in now, Chippy,' he said,
'Righto,' murmured the Raven. 'We must be off early to-morrow. Road
home 'ull work out three or four mile more'n the road 'ere.'
'That's a fact,' said Dick; 'but we'll turn up at Bardon by Saturday
night without setting foot in a train yet. Now, Chippy, what shall we
have for supper? We've got jolly good lodgings for nothing: we can
afford something extra for supper.'
They were going down the street which would lead them back to the
wharf, and the Raven paused in front of a butcher's shop.
'Can we sport a pound o' sausages?' he said. 'They'd mek' a good feed
to-night, and we'd have one or two left for brekfast again.'
'Good,' said Dick, and they laid down eightpence for a pound of
sausages, and threepence for a small loaf, and returned to the barge.
Here they fried their sausages and made some tea, for the fire in the
stove was not out, and the good-natured bargewoman had left them a
small bucketful of coke to make it up again.
After supper they carefully put out the fire, and turned in on the two
bunks which lay one on either side of the little cabin. Here, wrapped
in their blankets, they slept like tops till five o'clock in the
morning.
Chippy was the first to wake, and he got up and thrust his head out at
the hatch. His movements aroused his comrade, and Dick sprang to the
floor.
'Lucky we've been in 'ere,' said Chippy. 'It's been pourin' o' rain in
the night.'
So it had. The hollows among the stones which paved the wharf were
filled with pools of water, and everywhere had the fresh-washed look
which accompanies a heavy downpour.
'Well, we've been snug and dry enough,' cried Dick. 'Now for breakfast
and a start.'
They had cooked the whole of the sausages the night before, so that
they did not trouble to light a fire. They finished the loaf and the
sausages, and were almost at the end of their meal, when Mrs. Slade
came across from the wharfinger's house. Through her good offices they
obtained a bucket of clean water, and washed their faces and hands,
promising themselves a good dip in the first river they came to in
their day's journey. So by half-past six they had said farewell to the
bargewoman, and were marching through the silent streets of the little
city in the sweet freshness of a June summer morning.
They had entered Newminster from the south: they were leaving it
towards the north. In order to cover fresh ground all the time, they
had planned their route so that their track as marked on the map showed
as a very much flattened oval. They had worked towards Newminster on a
south-westerly sweep; they were working home again on a north-easterly
tack.