“No, though we could do that,” said Cruncher, a horse who was called that because he crushed his oats so finely. “You see,” he went on, “when the captain wants to change the teams on the towpath he steers the boat close to the shore. Then he puts a plank, with cross-pieces, or cleats, nailed on it, so we won’t slip, down to our stable, and we walk up, go ashore, and take our places at the end of the towline. The tired horses come in to rest and eat.”
“Then is the boat close to the shore now?” asked Lightfoot.
“Yes, right close up against the bank,” answered Cruncher as he made ready to go out on the towpath.
“Oh, I wish I could get ashore,” said Lightfoot. “I like you horses, and I like this boat, because it saved me from the boys who were chasing me, but still I had rather be out where I can see the sun.”
“I don’t blame you,” said Nibbler, who was called that because he used to nibble the edge of his manger. “Sometimes I get tired of this dark stable. But then, twice a day, we go out in the air to pull the boat.”
“Do you think I could get on shore?” asked Lightfoot.
“Well, if you could jump up out of the hold, where you are, you could,” said Cruncher, his hoofs making a noise like thunder on the planks as he walked up. “If you can do that you can go ashore.”
“I’m going to try,” said Lightfoot, and he began jumping up as high as he could to get out of the deep hole into which he had leaped.
But, jump as he did, Lightfoot could not get out of the hold. It was like being down in a deep well. If he had been a cat, with sharp claws to stick in the wooden sides of the boat, or a bear, like Dido, the dancing chap, Lightfoot might have got out. But as he was neither of these, he could not.
Again and again he tried, but it was of no use. Then he felt the boat moving again, and he knew it was being pulled along the canal by the horses.