They paddled on again until Gusset Lock came in sight. There were very few boats about; the season was, in fact, at an end, and the river, which a month or two ago had generally swarmed with boats just at this part on Saturday afternoons, looked quite deserted.
“Shall we go through the lock or turn round?” inquired Paul.
“May as well turn, eh, Wray?”
Paul was about to obey the order and turn the boat, when, casting his eyes on the bank, he started suddenly to his feet and exclaimed, pointing towards the lock-house, “Hullo! I say, there’s something up there!”
The two others looked round; something more lively than usual was undoubtedly taking place at old Mr Cripps’s residence, to judge by the shouts and laughter which proceeded from the group of people assembled near the door.
From where they were the boys in the boat could not see what the nature of the excitement was, and therefore paddled on with a view to satisfy their curiosity.
As they came up to the lock Paul suddenly exclaimed, “That’s young Greenfield!”
“What!” said Oliver—“Stephen?”
“Yes, and—what on earth are they doing to him?”
The boat being low down under the bank, it was impossible to see what was going on on the tow-path. Oliver, however, having once heard Stephen’s name, ordered Paul to put them into the opposite bank quick, where they could land.