“Well, I’ll lie down for an hour, Pete, for I do feel very weary. As soon as you think an hour’s gone, you wake me up.”
“Right, Master Nic, I will,” cried Pete heartily; and after a glance up and down the river, the young man sank back in the bottom of the boat, settled the leafy cap and veil in one over his face to shield it from the sun, and the next minute—to him—he unclosed his eyes to find that Pete was kneeling beside him with a hand on each shoulder as if he had been shaking the sleeper.
“Hullo! Yes; all right, Pete, I’ve had such a sleep. Why, Pete, it must be getting on for noon.”
“Ay, that it is, my lad; noon to-morrow. But don’t bully me, zir; you was zleeping just lovely, and I couldn’t waken you. Here we are at that farm-place, and I don’t zee the man about, but yonder’s the two women.”
“And the dogs, Pete?”
“Nay, don’t zee no dogs. Maybe they’re gone along wi’ the master. Come on, lad; I’ve tied the boat up to this post, and we’ll go up and ask the women yonder to give us a bit o’ zomething to eat.”
The place looked very familiar as Nic glanced round and recalled the time when he reached there, and their departure the next morning, with the looks of sympathy the two women had bestowed.
Just as he recalled this he caught sight of the younger woman, who came from the door of the roughly-built house, darted back and returned with her mother, both standing gazing at their visitors as they landed from the boat.
“Must go up to the house quiet-like, Master Nic, or we shall scare ’em,” said Pete. “Just you wave your hand a bit to show ’em you know ’em. Dessay they ’members we.”
Nic slowly waved his hand, and then shrugged his shoulders as he glanced down at his thin cotton rags; and his piteous plight made him ready to groan.