only a dream; it got quite
interesting.

I still went on pulling, however, and still no lock came in sight, and
the river grew more and more gloomy and mysterious under the gathering
shadows of night, and things seemed to be getting weird and uncanny. I
thought of hobgoblins and banshees, and will-o'-the-wisps, and those
wicked girls who sit up all night on rocks, and lure people into
whirl-pools and things; and I wished I had been a better man, and knew
more hymns; and in the middle of these reflections I heard the blessed
strains of "He's got 'em on," played, badly, on a concertina, and knew
that we were saved.

I do not admire the tones of a concertina, as a rule; but, oh! how
beautiful the music seemed to us both then--far, far more beautiful than
the voice of Orpheus or the lute of Apollo, or anything of that sort
could have sounded. Heavenly melody, in our then state of mind, would
only have still further harrowed us. A soul-moving harmony, correctly
performed, we should have taken as a spirit-warning, and have given up
all hope. But about the strains of "He's got 'em on," jerked
spasmodically, and with involuntary variations, out of a wheezy
accordion, there was something singularly human and reassuring.

The sweet sounds drew nearer, and soon the boat from which they were
worked lay alongside us.

It contained a party of provincial 'Arrys and 'Arriets, out for a
moonlight sail. (There was not any moon, but that was not their fault.)
I never saw more attractive, lovable people in all my life. I hailed
them, and asked if they could tell me the way to Wallingford lock; and I
explained that I had been looking for it for the last two hours.

"Wallingford lock!" they answered. "Lor' love you, sir, that's been done
away with for over a year. There ain't no Wallingford lock now, sir.
You're close to Cleeve now. Blow me tight if 'ere ain't a gentleman been
looking for Wallingford lock, Bill!"

I had never thought of that. I wanted to fall upon all their necks and
bless them; but the stream was running too strong just there to allow of
this, so I had to content myself with mere cold-sounding words of
gratitude.

We thanked them over and over again, and we said it was a lovely night,
and we wished them a pleasant trip, and, I think, I invited them all to
come and spend a week with me, and my cousin said her mother would be so
pleased to see them. And we sang the soldiers' chorus out of _Faust_,
and got