hid the plantation
from their sight; while Pete began to sing an old West-country ditty,
something about a clever moneyless adventurer who, no matter what task
he undertook, always succeeded in getting the best of his adversaries.

The words were absurd and often childish, but there was a ring in the
familiar old melody that went straight to Nic's heart and brought a
strange moisture to his eyes, for it thrilled him with hope, and brought
up memories of the far-away home that he began to feel now he might see
again. And that feeling of hope drove away the horrible dread and the
miserable sensation of weariness, sending vigour through every nerve,
and making him bend to his oar to take a full grip of the water and
swing back at the same moment as Pete, making the river ripple and plash
beneath the bows and driving the boat merrily along, just as if the two
fugitives were moved by the same spirit.

"Zome zaid a penny, but I zaid five poun'.
The wager was laid, but the money not down.
Zinging right fol de ree, fol de riddle
lee
While I am a-zinging I'd five poun' free,"

chanted Pete in a fine, round, musical bass voice, and the trees on one
side echoed it back, while the ungreased rowlocks, as the oars swung to
and fro, seemed to Nic's excited fancy to keep on saying, "Dev-on,
Dev-on, Dev-on," in cheery reiteration.

"Zinging right fol de ree!" cried Pete. "Zay, Master Nic, why don't you
join in chorus? You know that old zong."

"Ay, Pete, I know it," said Nic; "but my heart's too full for singing."

"Nay, not it, lad. Do you good. That's why I began. Mine felt so full
that it was ready to burst out, and if I hadn't begun to zing I should
ha' broken zomething. I zay, Master Nic, get out o' stroke and hit me a
good whack or two with your oar and fisties, right in the back."

"What for?"

"To waken me up. I'm dreaming, I'm afraid, and I'd rather be roused up
than go on in a dream like this. It's zo hearty, you zee, and makes me
feel as if I could go on rowing for a month without getting tired."

"So do I now, Pete."

"Well, that's real, Master Nic. I dunno, though; p'raps it aren't, and
I want it cut short. It would be horrid to wake up and find it all
zleep-hatching; but the longer I go on the worse I shall be. It's
dreaming, aren't it, and we didn't get away?"

"You know it is not a dream, Pete," replied Nic. "We have escaped--I
mean, we have begun to escape."

"Begun, lad? Why, we'