“I don’t know, mum, what happened that night and next day, for me and Babs didn’t go on board again.
“Only, the evenin’ arter, when the moon and stars was ashinin’ over the woods and deep down in the watur, father comes to me.
“‘Ransey,’ sez father, ‘fetch Jim; we’re goin’ on.’ And I goes and fetches Jim, and yokes him to and mounts; and father he put Babs up aside me, ’cause Jim’s good and never needs a whip.
“‘Go on, Ransey,’ sez he, an’ steps quietly on board and takes the tiller.
“Away we went—through the meadows and trees, and then through a long, quiet moor.
“Father kep’ the barge well out, and she looked sailin’ among the stars—which it wasn’t the stars, on’y their ’flection, mum. Well, we was halfway through the moor, and Babs was gone sound asleep ’cross my arm, when I gives Jim his head and looks back.
“An’, oh, mum, there was old dad standin’ holdin’ the tiller wi’ one hand. The moon was shinin’ on his face and on his hair, which is grey kind, and he kep’ lookin’ up and sayin’ somethin’.
“Then there was a plash. Oh, I knew then it was dead mother; and—and—I jest let Jim go on—and—and—”
But Ransey’s story stopped right here. He was pursing up his lips and trying to swallow the lump in his throat; and Miss Scragley herself turned her head away to hide the moisture in her eyes.