at narrowest point,
165 yards. It contains 356 acres, all of short grass, and affords
pasturage in summer for a few sheep from the mainland. There is no
harbour; but the south side affords fair anchorage for vessels
sheltering from N.W. winds. The distance from nearest point of coast is
three and three-quarter miles. Reputed to have served anciently as
_rendezvous_ for British pirates, and even in the last century as a
smugglers' _entrepot_. Geological formation--'"

"Is that all?" asked Tilda as the old man ceased his reading.

"That is all."

"But the river will take us to it," said the boy confidently.

"Hey? What river?"

"Why _this_ river--the Avon. It leads down to it--of course it must!"

"Why, yes," answered the old chemist after considering a while. "In a
sense, of course, it does. I hadn't guessed at your age you'd be so
good at geography. The Avon runs down to Tewkesbury, and there it joins
the Severn; and the Severn leads down past Gloucester and into the
Bristol Channel."

"I was sure!"

The boy said it in no very loud tone: but something shook in his voice,
and at the sound of it all the readers looked up with curiosity--which
changed, however, to protest at sight of the boy's rags.

"S--sh--sh!" said two or three.

The old chemist gazed around apologetically, closed the volume, replaced
it, and shepherded the children forth.

CHAPTER XVII.

BY WESTON WEIR.

"_Down below the Weir Brake
Journeys end in lovers' meeting:
You and I our way must take,
You and I our way will wend
Farther on, my only friend--
Farther on, my more than friend--
My sweet sweeting._"--COUNTRY SONG.

In a private apartment of the Red Cow Public-house Sam Bossom sat
doggedly pulling at a short pipe while Mr. Mortimer harangued him.

On the table stood a cheap, ill-smelling oil-lamp between two mugs of
beer. Sam had drawn his chair close, and from time to time reached out
a hand for his mug, stared into its depths as though for advice, and
gloomily replaced it. For the rest, he sat leaning a little forward on
his crossed arms, with set, square chin, and eyes fixed on a knot in the
deal table top.

Mr. Mortimer stood erect, in a declamatory attitude, with his back to
the exiguous fire. In the pauses of his delivery, failing to draw
response from Sam, he glanced down at his wife for approval. But she
too, seated on a low stool, made pretence to be absorbed in her
knitting; and her upward loo