you ever been at sea, Mr. Rowe?"

"Seven_teen_ year in the Royal Navy," said Mr. Rowe, with a strong
emphasis upon _teen_, as if he feared we might do him the injustice of
thinking he had only served his Queen and country for seven.

For the next two hours Fred and I sat, indifferent alike to the
sunshine and the shore, in rapt attention to Mr. Rowe's narrative of
his experiences at sea under the flag that has

"Braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze."

I believe Fred enjoyed them simply as stories, but they fanned in my
heart that restless fever for which sea-breezes are the only cure. I
think Mr. Rowe got excited himself as he recalled old times. And when
he began to bawl sea-songs with a voice like an Atlantic gale, and
when he vowed in cadence

"A sailor's life is the life for me,"

I felt that it was the life for me also, and expressed myself so
strongly to that effect that Mr. Rowe became alarmed for the
consequences of his indiscretion, and thenceforward told us
sea-stories with the obvious and quite futile intention of disgusting
me with what I already looked upon as my profession.

But the barge-master's rapid change of tactics convinced me more and
more that we could not safely rely on him to help us in our plans.

About five o'clock he made tea on board, and boiled the water on the
little stove in the cabin. I was very anxious to help, and it was I
who literally made the tea, whilst Mr. Rowe's steadier hand cut thick
slices of bread-and-butter from a large loaf. There was only one cup
and saucer. Fred and I shared the cup, and the barge-master took the
saucer. By preference, he said, as the tea cooled quicker.

The driver had tea after we returned to the deck and could attend to
the horse and boat.

Except the island in Linnet Lake, the most entertaining events of the
first day of our voyage were our passing villages or detached houses
on the canal banks.

Of the latter by far the most interesting was that of a dog-fancier,
from whose residence melodious howls, in the dog-dialect of every
tribe deserving to be represented in so choice a company, were wafted
up the stream, and met our ears before our eyes beheld the
landing-stage of the establishment, where the dog-fancier and some of
his dogs were lounging in the cool of the evening, and glad to see the
barge.

The fancier knew Mr. Rowe, and refreshed him (and us) with shandy-gaff
in horn tumblers. Some of the dogs who did