“Tom,” whispered a low voice in my ear,—“Master Tom, don't delay, my dear; let us slip out here. The soldiers want me to go with them to their billets, and I have promised; but I don't mean to do it.”
I looked up. It was Darby, buttoned up in his coat, his pipes unfastened for the convenience of carriage.
“Slip out after me at the lock here; it 's so dark we 'll never be seen.”
Keeping my eye on him, I elbowed my way through the crowded deck, and sprang out just as the boat began her forward movement.
“Here we are, all safe!” said Darby, patting me on the shoulder. “And now that I 've time to ask you, did you get your dinner, my child?”
“Oh yes; the captain brought me something to eat.”
“Come, that's right, anyhow. Glory be to God! I ate heartily of some bacon and greens; though the blackguards—bad luck to them for the same!—made me eat an orange lily whole, afraid the greens, as they said, might injure me.”
“I wonder. Darby,” said I, “that you haven't more firmness than to change this way at every moment.”
“Firmness, is it? Faix, it's firm enough I'd be, and Stiff, too, if I did n't. Sure it 's the only way now at all. Wait, my honey, till the time comes round for ourselves, and faix, you 'll never accuse me of coorting their favor; but now, at this moment, you perceive, we must do it to learn their plans. What do you think I got to-night? I learned all the signs the yeos have when they 're drinking together, and what they say at each sign. Thers 's a way they have of gripping the two little fingers together that I'll not forget soon.”
For some time we walked on at a rapid pace, without exchanging more than an occasional word. At last we entered a narrow, ill-lighted street, which led from the canal harbor to one of the larger and wider thoroughfares.