CHAPTER XXXVII

AT NEWMINSTER

'We come off pretty well,' said Chippy—'lost naught but my stick.'

'I'll show you where to out another afore we get to Newminster,' said Mrs. Slade—'a place where my man often cuts a stick. 'Tis a plantation of ashes on a bank lookin' to the north. Heavy, holdin' ground, too—just the spot for slow-growin' tough timber.'

She went to the towpath once more to unstrap the tin bucket from the horse's head, and set him to his task again.

'I fancy we shall have to stay somewhere in Newminster to-night, Chippy,' said Dick.

Chippy grunted in a dissatisfied fashion. The Raven was very keen on doing the trip for the smallest possible outlay of money. It seemed to him so much more scoutlike to live on the country, as they were fond of saying, and to pay for shelter did not seem to be playing the game.

Dick nodded. 'I know what you mean,' he said, for he had quite understood Chippy's grunt. 'But we're bound to make Newminster, and send off a card to show we've been in the town.'

'O' course,' said the Raven.

'And then it will be rather late to start off again and strike for the open country to search for a camping-place.'

'Right, Dick—quite right,' rejoined his comrade; 'the wust of it is as lodgin's cost money.'

'Needn't cost ye a single copper this night, anyhow,' said a voice in their ears, and the scouts jumped. Mrs. Slade had come up unseen, and had caught the last words of the Raven.

'Here y' are,' she went on, and pointed to the snug little cabin; 'that's yourn to-night if ye want it.'

'But you'll need it for yourselves,' cried Dick.

'Not this night,' she replied. 'I've got a married darter in Newminster. She've a-married a wharfinger in a good way o' business. Such a house as she've got! Upstairs, downstairs, an' a back-kitchen.'

Mrs. Slade visibly swelled in importance as she described her daughter's palatial surroundings. No doubt they seemed very extensive indeed after one small cabin. 'An' 'tis settled we stay wi' her to-night, so the cabin 'ere will be empty, an' ye're as welcome to it as can be.'

The scouts' eyes glistened, and they were easily induced to accept the kindly offer, and so they glided on their way towards the town, chatting together like old friends. Mrs. Slade pulled up for a moment at the ash plantation, and Chippy sprang out with the tomahawk. In five minutes he was back with a tough, straight ash-stick, which he trimmed and whittled with his knife as they made the last mile into the city.

At the wharf where the barge was to lie for the night they met Mr. Slade, a short, thick-set man, with a short, broad face between a fur cap and a belcher handkerchief. He was to the full as good-natured as his wife, and cordially re-echoed her invitation for the scouts to sleep in their cabin. The wharfinger's house was near at hand, so that the owners of the barge would not be far away.

The scouts stowed their haversacks and staves away in the cabin of the barge, shut it up, and locked it with the key which Mrs. Slade had lent to them, and left the key at the wharfinger's house. Then they put on their jackets and went for a stroll round the streets of the quaint old city. The long summer evening was dying as they stood below the fine west front of the cathedral, and watched the swallows skimming about the noble towers. Near at hand was a post-office, where Dick triumphantly scribbled, 'At Newminster. All well,' on a card, and dropped it into the letter-box.

'Supper and turn in now, Chippy,' he said,

'Righto,' murmured the Raven. 'We must be off early to-morrow. Road home 'ull work out three or four mile more'n the road 'ere.'

'That's a fact,' said Dick; 'but we'll turn up at Bardon by Saturday night without setting foot in a train yet. Now, Chippy, what shall we have for supper? We've got jolly good lodgings for nothing: we can afford something extra for supper.'

They were going down the street which would lead them back to the wharf, and the Raven paused in front of a butcher's shop.

'Can we sport a pound o' sausages?' he said. 'They'd mek' a good feed to-night, and we'd have one or two left for brekfast again.'

'Good,' said Dick, and they laid down eightpence for a pound of sausages, and threepence for a small loaf, and returned to the barge. Here they fried their sausages and made some tea, for the fire in the stove was not out, and the good-natured bargewoman had left them a small bucketful of coke to make it up again.

After supper they carefully put out the fire, and turned in on the two bunks which lay one on either side of the little cabin. Here, wrapped in their blankets, they slept like tops till five o'clock in the morning.

Chippy was the first to wake, and he got up and thrust his head out at the hatch. His movements aroused his comrade, and Dick sprang to the floor.

'Lucky we've been in 'ere,' said Chippy. 'It's been pourin' o' rain in the night.'

So it had. The hollows among the stones which paved the wharf were filled with pools of water, and everywhere had the fresh-washed look which accompanies a heavy downpour.

'Well, we've been snug and dry enough,' cried Dick. 'Now for breakfast and a start.'

They had cooked the whole of the sausages the night before, so that they did not trouble to light a fire. They finished the loaf and the sausages, and were almost at the end of their meal, when Mrs. Slade came across from the wharfinger's house. Through her good offices they obtained a bucket of clean water, and washed their faces and hands, promising themselves a good dip in the first river they came to in their day's journey. So by half-past six they had said farewell to the bargewoman, and were marching through the silent streets of the little city in the sweet freshness of a June summer morning.

They had entered Newminster from the south: they were leaving it towards the north. In order to cover fresh ground all the time, they had planned their route so that their track as marked on the map showed as a very much flattened oval. They had worked towards Newminster on a south-westerly sweep; they were working home again on a north-easterly tack.