by Anonymous
he wasright. He hadn't learned to box the compass, however; and even had hepossessed the knowledge, there wasn't a compass on board the _MerryMaiden_ to box or be boxed. Besides, the ship's head was seldom a wholehour in any one particular direction. The canal was a very winding one,its chief desire seeming to be to visit all the villages it could reachwithout being bothered with locks. These last were few and far between,because the country was rather a level one on the whole.
Nevertheless the fact of their not knowing exactly where they were goingto, or what they would see next, lent an additional charm to thechildren's canal life. It was like the game children play on moonlightnights in Scotland. This is a very simple one, but has a greatfascination for tiny dwellers in the country, and, besides, it givesexcellent scope for the imagination. One child blindfolds another, andleads him here, there, and everywhere, without going far away fromhome--round the stackyards, over the fields by the edge of the woods, oracross bridges, the blindfolded wondering all the time where he is, butfeeling as if he were in fairyland, till at last his eyes are free, andhe finds himself--well, in the very last place he could have dreamt ofbeing.
There is no reason why canal life in England should not be mostpleasant, and canal people just as happy as was the crew, all told, onboard the _Merry Maiden_.
The saloon of the _Maiden_, as Tandy grandly called it, was by no meansvery large. It was simply a dear little morsel of a doll's-house, butthe taste of the owner was shown in many different ways. By day thebeds were folded up and were prettily draped with bright curtains.There were a lounge, an easy-chair, a swing-lamp, a beautiful brassstove, and racks above and at both sides of it for plates and mugs andclear, clean tin cooking utensils; there were tiny cupboards andbrackets and mirrors, and in almost every corner stood vases of wildflowers, culled by Babs and Ransey whenever they had a chance. And thiswas often enough, for really Jim was so wise a horse that he neverrequired any urging to do his duty. He was never known to make eitherbreak or stumble. But when sail was on the ship, Jim had nothing to doexcept to walk after her and look about him. Sometimes the oats or thewheat grew close to the path, and then, although a very honest horse,Jim never failed to treat himself to a pluck. So he was as sleek andfat as any nag need be.
The weather was not always fine, of course, but on wet days Babs couldbe sent below, with Bob to mind her, to play with her picture-books, herlady doll, and her dolly-bone.
Ransey's father had made him discard now, for ever and ay, his raggedgarments, although the boy had not done so without a sigh of regret--they were so free and easy.
His best clothes, presented by Miss Scragley, were stowed away for highdays and holidays, and the suit his father bought him and brought himwas simply neat and somewhat nautical.
Let us take a little cruise in the _Merry Maiden_. Shall we, reader?
It will be a cruise in imagination certainly, but very real for allthat, because it is from the life.
It is very early, then, in the joyous month of June, and the _MerryMaiden_ is lying alongside a green bank. There is no pier here. It isa country place. Yonder on the right is a pretty little canal-side inn,the "Jolly Tapsters." You can read its name on the sign that isswinging to and fro beneath a wide-spreading elm-tree. Under this treeis a seat, and a table also; and on fine evenings, after their day'swork is done, honest labourers, dressed in smocks, who have beenhaymaking all day, come here to smoke long clays, to talk to theirneighbours, and now and then beat the table with their pewters to askfor "another pint, landlord, if _you_ please."
Tandy lay in here last night and left a whole lot of parcels and thingsat that cosy hostelry; for the country all about is an agricultural one,beautifully wooded with rolling hills, with many a smiling mansionpeeping grey or red above the trees, and many a well-tilled farm. Theparcels will all be called for in due time.
The barge-master is up before even Ransey is stirring. He has lit thefire and made ready for breakfast. Before going on shore by the littlegangway, he stirs Sammy up. Sammy, the sixteen-year-old boy, has beensleeping among the cargo with a morsel of tarpaulin for a blanket. Herubs his eyes, and in a few seconds pulls himself up, and begins, lazilyenough, to sort and arrange the parcels and make notes for the next stopin a small black book, with a very thick pencil that he sticks in hismouth about once every three seconds to make it write more easily.
"What a lovely morning!" thinks Tandy, and Bob, who has come boundingafter him, thinks so too. The sun is already up, however. From everycopse and plantation comes the melody of birds. Flocks of rooks areflying heavily and silently away to the distant river, where among thereeds they will find plenty to eat. Swimming about in the canal yonderare half a score of beautiful ducks. No, not wild; wild birds seldombuild on a busy canal side. They are the innkeeper's Rouens, and thatsplendid drake is very proud indeed. He lifts himself high out of thewater and claps his wings in defiance as Bob passes.
Yonder is a lark lilting loudly and sweetly high above the green corn.There are linnets and greenfinches in the hedges, and warblers among thesnow-white blossoms of the may.
There is a wealth of wild flowers everywhere--blue-eyed speedwells, theyellow celandine, the crimson of clover, the ragged robin, and ox-eyedaisies weeping dew.
So balmy is the air and fresh that the barge-master has wandered furtherthan he had intended. Hunger warns him to beat a retreat. Canalpeople, like caravan folks, have excellent appetites.
But here he is on board again. Ransey has already cooked and laid thebreakfast, dressed Babs, and folded up the beds. With the ports allopen the tiny saloon is sweet and clean.
"For what we are about to receive," the father begins, and littleRansey's head is bent and Babs's hands are clasped till grace is said.
Those eggs are fresh. The fish was caught but yesterday. Butter andbeautiful bread are always to be had cheap all along the canal.
Sammy's breakfast and Bob's are duly handed up the companion-way, and inhalf an hour after this the horse is yoked, the landlord has wished themall good luck, and they have gone on.
But the wind, though slight, is dead ahead for miles, and Jim has aheavy drag. Jim doesn't mind that a bit. He jingles his light harness,strains nobly to his work, and jogs right merrily on.
Gradually the country wakens up to newness of life. Smoke comes curlingup from many a humble cottage; cocks are crowing here and there; andbusy workman-like dogs are hurrying to and fro as they drive cattle orsheep to distant pasture lands.
There are houses dotted about everywhere, some very close to the canalside, from the doors of which half-dressed children rush out to wavenaked arms and "hooray" as the barge goes slowly floating past. Tothese Babs must needs wave her wee hands and give back cheer for cheer.
Many of those cots, humble though they be, have the neatest of gardens,with flowers already blooming in beds and borders, in tubs and in boxes;neat little walks all sanded and yellow; and strings along the walls, upwhich, when summer is further advanced, climbers will find their way andtrail in their loveliness over porch and windows.
There are orchards behind many of these, the gnarled trees snowed overwith bloom, many clad in pink or crimson. All this brings to one's mindsnatches from Mrs Hemans:--
"The cottage homes of England, By thousands on her plains, They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks, And round the hamlet-fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves, And fearless there the lowly sleep As the bird beneath their eaves."
The sun climbs higher and higher, and the mists have disappeared fromthe far-off hills, and now you can tell it is school time.
Well-dressed children, in groups, are wending their way all in onedirection. But they find time to cull wild flowers for teacher; andsee, a bold, bright-faced lad comes near to the edge of the canal.Perhaps he is charmed by the innocent beauty of little Babs. Who cantell? One thing we _are_ sure of--he has learned a little French, andis proud to air it.
"_Bon voyage_," he shouts.
And next moment a bonnie bunch of flowers falls right into the child'slap.
"Kiss your hand to him, dear," says father.
Babs smilingly does as she is told. No actress could do so morenaturally.
Then the boy runs off, looking happy, and the barge floats on.
Book 1--CHAPTER EIGHT.
"POOR MARY! SHE HAS GONE ON."
The barge floats on, and soon the village appears in sight. Yes,thoroughly English, and therefore pretty: the old grey houses only halfseen in the midst of the foliage; the wreaths of blue smoke; the broad,squat steeple; wooded hills behind, and amongst these latter here andthere a tall Elizabethan house sheltering itself in a hollow, for wildlyin winter do the winds sweep through the leafless oaks and elms now cladin all the glory of summer's green.
The canal makes a sweep just before it comes up to the village, as if ithad entertained some
