Читать книгу: «The Hallowell Partnership», страница 2

"Those were the grand days, sure," he added, wistfully. "Before the war, we pilots were the lords of the river. I had me a pair of varnished boots, an' tight striped trousers, an' a grand shiny stove-pipe hat, an' I wouldn't have called the king me uncle. It's sad times for the river, nowadays." He looked away up the broad, tumbling yellow stream. "Look at her, will ye! No river at all, she is, wid her roily yellow water, an' her poor miry banks, an' her bluffs, all washed away to shiftin' sand. But wasn't she the grand stream entirely, before the war!"

Marian looked at the framed river-chart above the wheel. She tried to read its puzzle of tangled lines. The old man sniffed.

"Don't waste yer time wid that gimcrack, miss. Steer by it? Never!" He shrugged his shoulders loftily. "It hangs there by government request, so I tolerate it to please the Department. I know this river by heart, every inch. I could steer this boat from Natchez to Saint Paul wid me eyes shut, the blackest night that ever blew!"

Marian dimpled at his majestic tone.

"Will you show me how to steer? I've always been curious as to how it is done."

"Certain I will."

Keenly interested, Marian gripped the handholds, and turned the heavy wheel back and forth as he directed. Suddenly her grasp loosened. Down the stream, straight toward the boat, drifted a rolling black mass.

"Mercy, what is that? It looks like a whole forest of logs. It's rolling right toward us!"

"Ye're right. 'Tis a raft that's broke adrift. But we have time to dodge, be sure. Watch now."

His right hand grasped the wheel. His left seized the bell-cord. Three sharp toots signalled the engine-room for full head of steam. Instantly the Lucy jarred under Marian's feet with the sudden heavy force of doubled power. Slowly the steam-boat swung out of her course, in a long westward curve. Past her, the nearest logs not fifty feet away, the great, grinding mass of tree-trunks rolled and tumbled by, sweeping on toward the Gulf.

"'Tis handy that we met those gintlemen by daylight," remarked the pilot, cheerfully. "For one log alone would foul our paddle-wheels and give us a bad shaking up. And should all that Donnybrook Fair come stormin' into us by night, we'd go to the bottom before ye could say Jack Robinson."

Marian's eyes narrowed. She stared at the dusk stormy yellow river, the blank inhospitable shores. She was not by any means a coward. But she could not resist asking one question.

"Do we go on up-river after nightfall? Or do we stop at some landing?"

"There's no landing between here and Grafton, at the mouth of the Illinois River. We'll have to tie up along shore, I'm thinkin'." The old man spoke grudgingly. "If I was runnin' her meself, 'tis little we'd stop for the night. But the captain thinks different. He's young and notional. Tie up over night we must, says he. But 'tis all nonsense. Chicken-hearted, I'd call it, that's all."

Marian laughed to herself. Inwardly she was grateful for the captain's chicken-heartedness.

A loud gong sounded from below. The pilot nodded.

"Yon's your supper-bell, miss. I thank ye kindly for the pleasure of yer company. I shall be honored if ye choose to come again. And soon."

Marian made her way down to the cabin through the stormy dusk. The little room was warm and brightly lighted; the captain's negro boy was just placing huge smoking-hot platters of perfectly cooked fish and steak upon the clean oil-cloth table. They gathered around it, an odd company. Marian and Roderick, the captain, the Lucy's engineer, a pleasant, boyish fellow, painfully embarrassed and redolent of hot oil and machinery; and two young dredge-runners, on their way, like Rod, to the Breckenridge contract. Save the captain and Rod, they gobbled bashfully, and fled at the earliest possible moment. Rod and the captain were talking of the contract and of its prospects. Marian trifled with her massive hot biscuit, and listened indifferently.

"I hope your coming on the work may change its luck, Mr. Hallowell," observed the captain. "For that contract has struggled with mighty serious difficulties, so far. Breckenridge himself is a superb engineer; but of course he cannot stay on the ground. He has a dozen equally important contracts to oversee. His engineers are all well enough, but somehow they don't seem to make things go. Carlisle is the chief. He is a good engineer and a good fellow, but he is so nearly dead with malaria that he can't do two hours' work in a week. Burford, his aid, is a young Southerner, a fine chap, but – well, a bit hot-headed. You know our Northern labor won't stand for much of that. Then there is Marvin, who is third in charge. But as for Marvin" – he stopped, with a queer short laugh – "as for Marvin, the least said the soonest mended. He's a cub engineer, they call him; a grizzly cub at that. He may come out all right, with time. You can see for yourself that you haven't any soft job. With a force of two hundred laborers, marooned in a swamp seven miles from nowhere, not even a railroad in the county; with half the land-owners protesting against their assessments, and refusing to pay up; with your head engineer sick, and your coal shipments held up by high water – no, you won't find your place an easy one, mind that."

"I'm not doing any worrying." Rod's jaw set. His dark face glowed. Marian looked at him, a little jealously. His whole heart and thought were swinging away to this work, now opening before him. This was his man's share in labor, and he was eager to cope with its sternest demands.

"Well, it's a good thing you have the pluck to face it. You will need all the pluck you've got, and then some." The captain paced restlessly up and down the narrow room. "Wonder why we don't slow down. We must be running a full twelve miles an hour. Altogether too fast, when we're towing a barge. And it is pitch dark."

He stooped to the engine-room speaking-tube. "Hi, Smith! Why are you carrying so much steam? I want to put her inshore."

A muffled voice rose from the engine-room.

"All right, sir. But McCloskey, he just rung for full speed ahead."

"He did? That's McCloskey, all over. The old rascal! He has set his heart on making Grafton Landing to-night, instead of tying up alongshore. Hear that? He's making that old wheel jump. To be sure, he knows the river channel like a book. But, even with double search-lights, no man living can see ice-cakes and brush far enough ahead to dodge them."

"Let's take a look on deck," suggested Rod.

Once outside the warm, cheerful cabin, the night wind swept down on them, a driving, freezing blast. The little steamer fairly raced through the water. Her deck boards quivered; the boom of the heavy engine throbbed under their feet.

"Thickest night I've seen in a year," growled the captain. "I say, McCloskey! Slow down, and let's put her inshore. This is too dangerous to suit me."

No reply. The boat fled pitching on.

"McCloskey!"

At last there came a faint hail.

"Yes, captain! What's yer pleasure, sir?"

"The old rascal! He's trying to show off. He's put his deaf ear to the tube, I'll be bound. Best go inside, Miss Hallowell, this wind is full of sleet. McCloskey! Head her inshore, I say."

On rushed the Lucy. Her course did not change a hair's breadth.

"No wonder they call him Commodore McCloskey!" Rod whispered wickedly. "Even the captain has to yield to him."

"McCloskey!" The captain's voice was gruff with anger. "Head her inshore! Unless you're trying to kill the boat – "

Crash!

The captain's sentence was never finished.

CHAPTER III
ENTER MR. FINNEGAN

With that crash the floor shot from under their feet. Stumbling and clutching, the three, Marian, Rod, and the captain, pitched across the deck and landed in a heap against the rail. The lighted cabin seemed to rear straight up from the deck and lunge toward them. There was an uproar of shouts, a hideous pounding of machinery. Marian shut her eyes.

Then, with a second deafening crash, the steamer righted herself; and, thrown like three helpless ninepins, Marian, Rod, and the captain reeled back from the rail and found themselves, bumped and dizzy, tangled in a heap of freight and canvas. Rod was the first on his feet. He snatched Marian up, with a groan.

"Sister! Are you hurt? Tell me, quick."

"Nonsense, no." Marian struggled up, bruised and trembling. "I whacked my head on the rail, that's all. What has happened?"

"We've struck another bunch of runaway logs. They've fouled our wheel," shouted the captain. "Put this life-preserver on your sister. Swing out the yawl, boys!" For the deck crew was already scrambling up the stairs. "Here, where's Smith?"

"He's below, sir, stayin' by the boiler. The logs struck us for'ard the gangway. She's got a hole stove in her that you could drive an ice-wagon through," answered a fireman. "Smith says, head her inshore. Maybe you can beach her before she goes clean under."

The captain groaned.

"Her first trip for the year! The smartest little boat on the river! McCloskey!" he shouted angrily up the tube. "Head her inshore, before she's swamped. You hear that, I reckon?"

"Ay, ay, sir." It was a very meek voice down the tube.

Very slowly the Lucy swung about. Creaking and groaning, she headed through the darkness for the darker line of willows that masked the Illinois shore.

For a minute, Roderick and Marian stood together under the swaying lantern, too dazed by excitement to move. On Marian's forehead a cheerful blue bump had begun to rise; while Rod's cheek-bone displayed an ugly bruise. Suddenly Marian spoke.

"Rod! Where is Empress! She will be frightened to death. We must take her into the yawl with us."

The young fireman turned.

"That grand big cat of yours, ma'am? You'll never coax a cat into an open boat. They'll die first. But have no fear. We are not a hundred yards from shore, and in shallow water at that. 'Tis a pity the Lucy is hurt, but it's fortunate for us that she can limp ashore."

Marian felt a little foolish. She pulled off the cork jacket which Rod had tied over her shoulders.

"We aren't shipwrecked after all, Rod. We're worse frightened than hurt."

"I'm not so sure of that. Keep that life-preserver on, Sis."

The Lucy was blundering pluckily toward shore. But the deck jarred with the thud and rattle of thrashing machinery, and at every forward plunge the boat pitched until it seemed as if the next fling would surely capsize her.

Rod peered into the darkness.

"We'll make the shore, I do believe. Shall I leave you long enough to get our bags and Empress?"

"Oh, I'll go too. You'll need me to pacify Empress. She will be panic-stricken."

Poor Empress was panic-stricken, indeed. The little cabin was a chaos. The shock of the collision had overturned every piece of furniture. Even the wall cabinets were upset, and their shells and arrowheads were scattered far and wide. The beautiful old-time crystal chandeliers were in splinters. Worst, the big gilt mirror lay on the floor, smashed to atoms. Only one object in all that cabin held its place: the stuffed eagle. And high on the eagle's outspread wing, crouched like a panther, snarling and spitting, her every silky hair furiously on end, clung poor, terrified Empress. Rod exploded.

"You made friends with the nice bird, after all, didn't you, Empress! Come on down, kitty. Let me put a life-preserver on you too."

No life-preservers for Empress! Marian coaxed and called in vain. She merely dug her claws into the eagle's back and growled indignant refusal.

"Let's go back on deck, Sis. She'll calm down presently."

The Lucy was now working inshore with increasing speed. But, as they stepped on deck, the boat careened suddenly, then stopped, with a sickening jolt.

"Never mind, miss," the young fireman quickly assured her. "She has struck a sand-bar, and there she'll stick, I fear. But we are safe enough, for the water is barely six feet deep. We'll have to anchor here for the night, but don't be nervous. She can't sink very far in six feet of water."

"I suppose not." Yet Marian's teeth chattered. Inwardly she sympathized with Empress. What a comfort it would be to climb the stuffed eagle and perch there, well out of reach of even six feet of black icy water!

The captain was still more reassuring.

"Well, we're lucky that we've brought her this near shore." He wiped his forehead with a rather unsteady hand. "Ten minutes ago my heart was in my mouth. I thought sure she'd sink in mid-stream. You're perfectly safe now, Miss Hallowell. Better go to your state-room and get some sleep."

"Yes, the Lucy will rest still as a church now," said the young fireman, with a heartening chuckle. "She's hard aground. Though that's no thanks to our pilot. I say, McCloskey! Where were you trying to steer us? Into a lumber-yard?"

Down the hurricane deck came Mr. McCloskey, white beard waving, eyes twinkling, jaunty and serene as a May morning.

"This little incident is no fault of me steerin'," said he, with delightful unconcern. "'Twas the carelessness of thim raftsmen, letting their logs get away, no less. Sure, captain dear, I'd sue them for damages."

"I'll be more likely to sue you for running full speed after dark, against orders," muttered the captain. Then he laughed. "I ought to put you in irons. But the man doesn't live that can hold a grudge against you, McCloskey. Take hold now, boys. Bank your fires, then we'll patch her up as best we can for the night."

Marian went to her state-room, but not to sleep. There was little sleep that night for anybody. In spite of protecting sand-bar and anchor, the boat careened wretchedly. Strange groans and shrieks rose from the engine-room; hurrying footsteps came and went through the narrow gangway. And the rush of the swift current, the bump of ice-cakes, and the sweep of floating brush past her window kept her aroused and trembling. It seemed years before the tiny window grew gray with dawn.

The captain's voice reached her ears.

"No, the Lucy isn't damaged as badly as we thought. But it will take us two days of bulkheading before we dare go on. You'd best take your sister up to the camp in my launch. It is at your service."

"That's good news!" sighed Marian. "Anything to escape from this sinking ship. I don't like playing Casabianca one bit."

She swallowed the hot coffee and corn bread which the captain's boy brought to her door, and hurried on deck. Their embarking was highly exciting; for poor Empress, having been coaxed with difficulty from the eagle's roost, where she had spent the night, promptly lost her head at sight of the water and fled shrieking to the pilot-house. Rod, the pilot, the engineer, and the young fireman together hunted her from her fastness, and, after a wild chase, returned scratched but victorious, with Empress raging in a gunny-sack.

"Best keep her there till you're ashore, miss," laughed the young fireman. And Marian took the precaution to tie the mouth of the sack with double knots.

Up-stream puffed the launch, past Grafton Landing into the narrower but clearer current of the Illinois River. Now the black mud banks rose into bluffs and wooded hills. Here and there a marshy backwater showed a faint tinge of early green. But there was not a village in sight; not even a solitary farm-house. Hour after hour they steamed slowly up the dull river, beneath the gray mist-hooded sky. Marian looked resentfully at her brother. He had unrolled a portfolio of blue-prints, and sat over them, as absorbed and as indifferent to the cold and discomfort as if he were sitting at his own desk at home.

"He's so rapt over his miserable old contract that he is not giving me one thought," Marian sulked to herself. "I just wish that I had put my foot down, and had refused, flatly, to come with him. If I had dreamed the West would be like this!"

Presently the launch whistled. An answering whistle came from up-stream. Rod dropped his blue-prints with a shout.

"Look, Marian. There is the contract camp, the whole plant! See, straight ahead!"

Marian stared. There was not a house to be seen; but high on the right bank stood an army of tents; and below, moored close to shore, lay a whole village of boats, strung in long double file. Midway stood a gigantic steam-dredge. Its vivid red-painted machinery reared high on its black, oil-soaked platform, its strange sprawling crane spread its iron wings, like the pinions of some vast ungainly bird of prey. Around it were ranked several flat-boats, a trim steam-launch, a whole regiment of house-boats. Rod's eyes sparkled. He drew a sharp breath.

"This is my job, all right. Isn't it sumptuous, Marian! Will you look at that dredge! Isn't she magnificent? So is the whole outfit, barges and all. That's worth walking from Boston to see!"

"Is it?" Marian choked back the vicious little retort. "Well, I'd be willing to walk back to Boston – to get away!"

"Ahoy the launch! This is Mr. Hallowell?" A tall, haggard man in oilskins and hip boots came striding across the dredge. "Glad to see you, sir. We hoped that you would arrive to-day. I am Carlisle, the engineer in charge." He leaned over the rail to give Rod's hand a friendly grip. He spoke with a dry, formal manner, yet his lean yellow face was full of kindly interest. "And this is your sister, Miss Hallowell? You have come to a rather forlorn summer resort, Miss Hallowell, but we will do our best to make it endurable for you."

Roderick, red with pleasure, stood up to greet his new chief. Behind Mr. Carlisle towered a broad-shouldered, heavily built young man, in very muddy khaki and leggings, his blond wind-burnt face shining with a hospitable grin.

"This is our Mr. Burford, Mr. Hallowell. At present, you and he will superintend the night shifts."

Mr. Burford gave Roderick a hearty handshake, and beamed upon Marian.

"Mr. Burford will be particularly glad to welcome you, Miss Hallowell, on Mrs. Burford's account. She has been living here on the work for several months, the only lady who has graced our camp until to-day. I know that she will be eager for your companionship."

Mr. Burford grew fairly radiant.

"Sally Lou will be wild when she learns that you are really here," he declared eagerly, in his deep southern drawl. "She has talked of your coming every minute since the news came that we might hope to have you with us. You will find us a mighty primitive set, but you and Sally Lou can have plenty of fun together, I know. I'd like to bring her and the kiddies to see you as soon as you feel equal to receiving us."

"Thank you very much." Marian tried her best to be gracious and friendly. But she was so tired that young Burford's broad smiling face seemed to blur and waver through a thickening mist. "I'm sure I shall be charmed – "

"Hi, there!" An angry shout broke upon her words. "Mr. Carlisle, will you look here! That foreman of yours has gone off with my skiff again. If I'm obliged to share my boat with your impudent riffraff – "

"Mr. Marvin, will you kindly come here a moment?" The chief's voice did not lose its even tone; but his heavy brows narrowed. "I wish you to meet Mr. Hallowell, who is your and Mr. Burford's new associate. Miss Hallowell, may I present Mr. Marvin?"

Marian bowed and looked curiously at the tall, dark-featured young man who shuffled forward. She remembered the captain's terse description – "a cub engineer, and a grizzly cub at that." Mr. Marvin certainly acted the part. He barely nodded to her and to Roderick, then clamored on with his grievance.

"You know I've told the men time and again to leave my boat alone. But your foreman borrows my launch whenever he takes the notion, and leaves her half-swamped, or high and dry, as he chooses. If you won't jack him up for it, I will. I'll not tolerate – "

"I'll take that matter up later, Mr. Marvin." Marvin's sullen face reddened at the tone in his chief's voice. "Mr. Hallowell, I have found lodgings for your sister three miles up the canal, at the Gates farm. Mr. Burford will take you to Gates's Landing, thence you will drive to the farm-house. Your own quarters will be on the engineers' house-boat, and we shall hope to see you here for dinner to-night. Good-by, Miss Hallowell. I hope that Mrs. Gates will do everything to make you comfortable."

The launch puffed away up the narrow muddy canal. It was a straight, deep stream of brown water, barely forty feet wide. Its banks were a high-piled mass of mire and clay, for the levee-builders had not yet begun work. Beyond rose clumps of leafless trees. Then, far as eye could see, muddy fields and gray swampy meadows. Rod gazed, radiant.

"Isn't it splendid, Marian! The finest equipment I ever dreamed of. Look at those barges!"

"Those horrid flat-boats heaped with coal?"

"Yes. Think of the yardage record we're making. Five thousand yards a day!"

Marian rubbed her aching eyes.

"I don't know a yardage record from a bushel basket," she sighed. "What is that queer box-shaped red boat, set on a floating platform?"

"That is the engineers' house-boat, where your brother is to live. Mayn't we take you aboard to see?" urged Burford.

Marian stepped on the narrow platform and peered into the cubby-hole state-rooms and the clean, scoured mess-room. She was too tired to be really interested.

"And that funny, grass-green cabin, set on wooden stilts, up that little hill – that play-house?"

Burford laughed.

"That's my play-house. Sally Lou insists on living right here, so that she and the babies and Mammy Easter can keep a watchful eye on me. You and Sally Lou will be regular chums, I know. She is not more than a year or so older than you are, and it has been pretty rough on her to leave her home and come down here. But she says she doesn't care; that she'd rather rough it down here with me than mope around home, back in Norfolk, without me. It surely is a splendid scheme for me to have her here." He laughed again, with shy, boyish pride. "Sally Lou is a pretty plucky sort. And, if I may say it, so are you."

Marian managed to smile her thanks. Inwardly she was hoping that the marvellous Sally Lou would stay away and leave her in peace. She was trembling with fatigue. Through the rest of the trip she hardly spoke.

At Gates's Landing they were met by a solemn, bashful youth and a buckboard drawn by two raw, excited horses. They whirled and bumped through a rutted woods road and stopped at last before a low white farm-house. Marian realized dimly that Rod was carrying her upstairs and into a small tidy room. She was so utterly tired that she dropped on the bed and slept straight through the day.

She did not waken until her landlady's tap called her to supper. Mr. and Mrs. Gates, two quiet, elderly people, greeted her kindly, and set a Homeric feast before her: shortbread and honey, broiled squirrels and pigeon stew, persimmon jam and hot mince pie. She ate dutifully, then crept back to her little room, with its mournful hair wreaths and its yellowed engravings of "Night and Morning" and "The Death-bed of Washington," and fell asleep again.

The three days that followed were like a queer, tired dream. It rained night and day. The roads were mired hub deep. Roderick could not drive over to see her, but he telephoned to her daily. But his hasty messages were little satisfaction. The heavy rains had overflowed the big ditch, he told her. That meant extra work for everybody on the plant. Carlisle was wretchedly sick, so Rod and Burford were sharing their chief's watch in addition to their own duties. Worst, Marvin had quarrelled with the head runner of the big dredge, and "We're having to spend half our time in coddling them both for fear they'll walk off and leave us," as Rod put it. In short, Roderick had neither time nor thought for his sister. Marian realized that her brother was not inconsiderate. He was absorbed in his work and in its risks. Yet she keenly resented her loneliness.

"It isn't Rod's fault. But if I had dreamed that the West would be like this!"

But on the fourth day, while she sat at her window looking out at the endless rain, there came a surprising diversion.

"A gentleman to see you, Miss Hallowell. Will you come downstairs?"

"Why, Commodore McCloskey!" Marian hurried down, delighted. "How good of you to come!"

Commodore McCloskey, dripping from his sou'wester to his mired boots, beamed like a drenched but cheery Santa Claus.

"I've taken the liberty to bring a friend to call," he chuckled. "He's young an' green, an' 'tis few manners he owns, but he's good stock, an' – Here, ye rascal! Shame on ye, startin' a fight the minute ye enter the house!"

Marian gasped. Past her, with a wild miauw, shot a yellow streak. That streak was Empress. Straight after the streak flew a fat, brown, curly object, yapping at the top of its powerful lungs. Up the window-curtain scrambled Empress. With a frantic leap she landed on the frame of Grandpa Gates's large crayon portrait. Beneath the portrait her curly pursuer yelped and whined.

"Why, he's a collie puppy. Oh, what a beauty! What is his name?"

"Beauty he is. And his name is Finnegan, after the poem, 'Off again, on again, gone again, Finnegan.' Do ye remember? 'Tis him to the life. He is a prisint to ye from Missis McCloskey and meself. An' our compliments an' good wishes go wid him!"

"How more than kind of you!" Marian, delighted, stooped to pat her new treasure. Finnegan promptly leaped on her and spattered her fresh dress with eager, muddy paws. He then caught the table-cover in his teeth. With one frisky bounce he brought a shower of books and magazines to the floor. Mr. McCloskey clutched for his collar. The puppy gayly eluded him and made a dash for the pantry. Marian caught him just as he was diving headlong into the open flour-barrel.

"I do thank you so much! He'll be such a pleasure; and such a protection," gasped Marian, snatching Mrs. Gates's knitting work from the puppy's inquiring paws.

"'Tis hardly a protector I'd call him," Mr. McCloskey returned. "But he'll sure keep your mind employed some. Good-day to ye, ma'am. And good luck with Finnegan."

Poor Empress! In her delight with this new plaything, Marian quite forgot her elder companion. Moreover, as Mr. McCloskey had said, Finnegan could and did keep her mind employed, and her hands as well.

"That pup is energetic enough, but he don't appear to have much judgment," said Mrs. Gates, mildly. In two hours Finnegan had carried off the family supply of rubbers and hid them in the corn-crib; he had torn up one of Rod's blue-prints; he had terrorized the hen-yard; he had chased Empress from turret to foundation-stone. At length Empress had turned on him and cuffed him till he yelped and fled to the kitchen, where he upset a pan of bread sponge.

"Suppose you take him for a walk, down to the big ditch. Maybe the fresh air will calm him down."

Marian made a leash of clothes-line and marched Finnegan down the sodden woods toward the ditch. She was so busy laughing at his droll performances that she quite forgot the dull fields, the wet, gray prospect. Crimson-cheeked and breathless, she finally dragged him from the third alluring rabbit-hole, despite his pleading whines, and started back up the canal. As she pushed through a hedge of willows a sweet, high, laughing voice accosted her.

"Good-morning, my haughty lady! Won't you stop and talk with us a while?"

Startled, Marian turned toward the call. Across the ditch, high on the opposite bank, stood the quaintest, prettiest group that her eyes had ever beheld. A tall, fair-haired girl of her own age, dressed in a bewitching short-waisted gown of scarlet and a frilly scarlet bonnet, stood in the leafless willows, a tiny white-clad child in her arms. Behind her a stout beaming negress in bandanna turban and gay plaid calico was lifting another baby high on her ample shoulder.

Marian stared, astonished. The whole group might well have stepped straight out of some captivating old engraving of the days before the war.

"Haven't you time to pass the time o' day?" the sweet, mischievous voice entreated. "You are Miss Hallowell, I know. I'm Sarah Louisiana Burford, and I am just perishin' to meet you. There is a board bridge just a rod or so up the canal. We'll meet you there. Do please come, and bring your delightful dog. March right along now!"

And Marian, laughing with amusement and delight, marched obediently along.