Some of the people laughed, and some said "Very well;" but evening deepened into night without bringing Juliet.
The last boat was that of the old gentleman's butler, or valet, or whatever he liked to call himself. When Rowles made his speech about the missing girl, the man replied, "I know; that is the child whose father is a printer. Mr. Burnet takes an interest in that child, being himself a master-printer, and the son of a journeyman printer."
"The son of a journeyman printer!" Rowles repeated. "You don't say so, Mr. Robert?"
"Yes, I do say it. My Mr. Burnet's father began life at the bottom of the ladder, and ended it near the top; and my Mr. Burnet began life near the top, and is ending it quite at the top. Hard work, Mr. Rowles, hard work, perseverance, honesty, and temperance; that's what does it. Your little girl's father may get to the top of the tree yet."
"Not with his bad health," replied Rowles, shaking his head; "and not without his proper night's sleep."
"They make up their sleep in the daytime," said the other, beginning to push his boat out of the lock which was now full. "I've got relations of my own in the same line, so I know they can make up their sleep in the daytime. Well, good-night; if I see the girl I'll hurry her home."
"Good—night, Mr. Robert. I'm glad you've learnt to manage your boat."
As Roberts went off his voice was heard saying, "It is hard work, and perseverance, and honesty, and temperance that does it." And he was not wrong.
Ten o'clock came. The lock-house was closed, and all its inmates went to bed. Mrs. Rowles had little sleep, watching all night for Juliet's knock. But it did not come.
At six o'clock next morning Mr. Rowles went out to look up and down the river, and to prophesy the weather. It was still and cloudless and warm. While he was standing idly beside the running water, listening to the twitter of birds and the lowing of cows, he heard yet another cry, that of a man; and presently he saw on the far-off bank the figure of a big, burly man with a bushy beard.