"It's lovely! I should want to come by it, even if it were a mile longer instead of shorter," said Aldred, who always preferred the romantic to the practical. "How do you manage when the stream is full?"
"Oh! we can't get along unless we wade. We came once last winter and had to turn back; the water was up to this stone, a regular rushing torrent, very different from what it is now. Can you scramble over this wall? Take my hand. Now, you see, we are in the lane, and we shall get to the ferry in a minute."
The old-fashioned ferry was a most picturesque feature of the tidal river, a large, flat-bottomed boat being worked on chains, which stretched from one bank to the other. Sometimes a horse and cart, or a flock of sheep, would be taken over, as well as ordinary passengers, the whole cargo being slowly wound across the water by the ferryman, who turned a creaking windlass on board. The whole arrangement seemed a delightful survival of days when no one was ever in a hurry, and life revolved on leisurely wheels, as different from our modern rush and excitement as a bullock cart is from a motor car. Aldred was fascinated with the quaint contrivance, and anxious to cross on it; but Francis had other projects.
"I say! Wouldn't it be jolly if we could get Pritchard to lend us his small boat, and row ourselves up the river to Holt's farm?" he suggested.
"Ripping!" said Godfrey. "Why not?"
"It's not a bad idea," said Piers; "but have you fellows brought any money with you? for I haven't."
"I've left my worldly wealth in my other trousers' pocket," admitted Godfrey. "Francis, you'll have to pay the piper."
"All serene!"
"I wonder what he'd charge?"
"I don't know, but we can ask him. Here he is now. You'd like a row, girls, wouldn't you?"