The boat is brought against the bank; Ryecroft leaps lightly to land, calls back “good night,” and strikes off along the footpath.
Not a moment delays the waterman; but shoving off, and setting head down stream, pulls with all his strength, stimulated by the fear of finding the shop shut.
He is in good time, however; and reaches Rugg’s to see a light in the shop window, with its door standing open.
Going in he gets the groceries, and is on return to the landing-place, where he has left his skiff, when he meets with a man, who has come to the Ferry on an errand somewhat similar to his own. It is Joseph Preece, “Old Joe,” erst boatman of Llangorren Court; but now, as all his former fellow-servants, at large.
Though the acquaintance between him and Wingate is comparatively of recent date, a strong friendship has sprung up between them—stronger as the days passed, and each saw more of the other. For of late, in the exercise of their respective métiers, professionally alike, they have had many opportunities of being together, and more than one lengthened “confab” in the Gwendoline’s dock.
It is days since they have met, and there is much to talk about, Joe being chief spokesman. And now that he has done his shopping, Jack can spare the time to listen. It will throw him a little later in reaching home; but his mother won’t mind that. She saw him go up, and knows he will remember his errand.
So the two stand conversing till the gossipy Joseph has discharged himself of a budget of intelligence, taking nigh half an hour in the delivery.
Then they part, the ex-Charon going about his own business, the waterman returning to his skiff.
Stepping into it, and seating himself, he pulls out and down.
A few strokes bring him opposite the chapel burying-ground; when all at once, as if stricken by a palsy, his arms cease moving, and the oar-blades drag deep in the water. There is not much current, and the skiff floats slowly.