in,
till the whole river for miles up and down was in a state of frantic
commotion. And then Harris would break off in the most interesting part
of his narrative, and look up with mild surprise, and say to George:

"Why, George, bless me, if here isn't a steam launch!"

And George would answer:

"Well, do you know, I _thought_ I heard something!"

Upon which we would get nervous and confused, and not know how to get the
boat out of the way, and the people in the launch would crowd round and
instruct us:

"Pull your right--you, you idiot! back with your left. No, not
_you_--the other one--leave the lines alone, can't you--now, both
together. NOT _that_ way. Oh, you--!"

Then they would lower a boat and come to our assistance; and, after
quarter of an hour's effort, would get us clean out of their way, so that
they could go on; and we would thank them so much, and ask them to give
us a tow. But they never would.

Another good way we discovered of irritating the aristocratic type of
steam launch, was to mistake them for a beanfeast, and ask them if they
were Messrs. Cubit's lot or the Bermondsey Good Templars, and could they
lend us a saucepan.

Old ladies, not accustomed to the river, are always intensely nervous of
steam launches. I remember going up once from Staines to Windsor--a
stretch of water peculiarly rich in these mechanical monstrosities--with
a party containing three ladies of this description. It was very
exciting. At the first glimpse of every steam launch that came in view,
they insisted on landing and sitting down on the bank until it was out of
sight again. They said they were very sorry, but that they owed it to
their families not to be fool-hardy.

We found ourselves short of water at Hambledon Lock; so we took our jar
and went up to the lock-keeper's house to beg for some.

George was our spokesman. He put on a winning smile, and said:

"Oh, please could you spare us a little water?"

"Certainly," replied the old gentleman; "take as much as you want, and
leave the rest."

"Thank you so much," murmured George, looking about him. "Where--where
do you keep it?"

"It's always in the same place my boy," was the stolid reply: "just
behind you."

"I don't see it," said George, turning round.

"Why, bless us, where's your eyes?" was the man's comment, as he twisted
George round and pointed up and down the stream. "There's enough of it
to see, ain't there?"

"Oh!" exclaimed Ge