"Trows? Is that what they are?"
"Aye; and they be goin' down to Glo'ster first, an' thence away to
Sharpness Dock. They go through the Glo'ster an' Berkeley, and at
Sharpness they finish."
"Is that anywhere in the Bristol Channel?" The old man ruminated for a moment.
"You may call it so. Gettin' on for that, anyway. Fine boats they be; mons'rously improved in my time. But where d'ee come from, you two?— here in Tewkesbury, an' not to know about Severn trows?"
"We've—er—jus' run over here for the afternoon, in a motor," said
Tilda—and truthfully; but it left the old man gasping.
The children strolled on, idling by the bridge's parapet, watching the strong current, the small boats as they tacked to and fro. Up stream another tug hove in sight, also with a line of trows behind her. This became exciting, and Tilda suggested waiting and dropping a stone—a very small one—upon the tug's deck as she passed under the archway.
"If only she could take us on!" said Arthur Miles.
"We'd 'ave to drop a big stone for that," Tilda opined.
And with that suddenly 'Dolph, who had been chasing a robin, and immersed in that futile sport, started to bark—uneasily and in small yaps at first, then in paroxysms interrupted by eager whines.
"W'y wot the matter with 'im?" asked Tilda.