And then he says to the man: "What did your master mean by sending us a fool of a horse like this? We're not going to take a circus through the country. This is a nice sort of creature for a canal tow-path!"

Then, amid these gambols, crack! goes something.

"Look here, now!" our young friend calls to the driver, who is still hanging on to the animal's head. "Here is this thing broken! You'll have to go back. Take this kangaroo home, and bring us a horse. Get away, you idiot!"

This last ejaculation is caused by his having to skip aside from the lively pair of heels—an undignified movement at the best. The driver, a tall young man, gaunt of face, clad in a suit of pilot cloth, and wearing a skipper's hat—we called him Palinurus the moment we set eyes on him-proceeds to unhitch the rope from the broken harness; and then, in a melancholy manner, leads away the disgraced, beribboned prancer. Jack Duncombe comes on board. The women don't say anything. He pretends that all is not quite ready for our departure. He consults Murdoch about the stowage of the portmanteaus; and then these two disappear within the Noah's Ark. The women's faces remain demure.

And yet we made a sufficiently pleasant start, after all, when a second horse-a large-boned white animal, with bushy mane and tail-was brought along and yoked; and glad enough were we when the vibration of the long, tight line and the swishing of water at the bows told us we were really off. It was a cheerful morning, too; for if there was no positive sunlight, there was a white glare of heat; the birds were twittering everywhere; the swallows skimming and darting over the surface of the silver-rippling river. Of course this was rather a well-known panorama that was now gliding silently by-the Surbiton villas among their abundant gardens, with here and there a boating party embarking, and here and there a rose-red sunshade visible under the young green of the trees; and, indeed, some of us may have been wishing that we could get the Thames part of our voyage over and done with, and set forth upon less familiar waters. But this we had to remember, that with us was a young American

stranger, to whom everything was new, who had an eager interest in places with historical associations, and who was most amiably disposed to be pleased with everything she saw. Hampton Court was not at all "Appy 'Ampton" for our Miss Peggy; it was the palace that Cardinal Wolsey gave to Henry VIII.; and she seemed surprised that we did not propose to stop at a place enriched with so many memories.

"Well," says Mrs. Threepenny-bit, in the midst of our learned discourse, "I am going inside to talk to Murdoch about lunch. You," she says, to the humble chronicler of these events, "you can stay here and entertain Peggy with English history. History-yes-that's what they call it."

"What does she mean?" says Peggy, with artless eyes.

But just as if to rebuke the malignant levity of womenwho think of nothing but their own wretched little gibes and jeers among the serious cares and duties of life-not more than a minute after that we found ourselves out in the middle of the river Thames, helplessly adrift, and with no visible means of reaching either shore. For at Hampton Court the tow-path changes to the Surrey side; Palinurus had unhitched the line without leaving sufficient way on the boat to enable us to shoot the bridge; we had no oars; and the two poles we had on board could not reach the bottom. This was a pleasant predicament; and yet here was one woman looking on in mild amusement at our frantic efforts to save her worthless life; and the other woman, rejoicing, no doubt, in the feeble sarcasm with which she took her leave, busy with such inanities as plovers' eggs and pigeon-pie. By what superhuman endeavours we got that boat over to the other shore needs not to be described here; we found Palinurus peacefully, if furtively, smoking his pipe; and Coriolanus-why we called him Coriolanus we never could make out; but it seemed natural somehow-Coriolanus was nibbling at the grass on the bank. Presently, the line had been attached again, and our silent progress resumed; and then, when we had disposed of the rough-and-tumble business of getting through Moulsey Lock, a silver tinkling was heard within, which we knew to be Murdoch's summons to lunch; and Miss

Peggy, forsaking history-yes, history-for the moment, was pleased to descend from her commanding position at the prow, and take her place at the oblong little table in the saloon.

Now this was the first occasion on which those two young people had really been thrown into each other's society; and it may be said at once that Queen Tita's fears, if she had ever seriously entertained any, ought to have been dissipated forthwith. Miss Peggy took not the least notice of the young man ; she did not even look his way; you would have thought she was not aware of his existence. You see, she was much interested in hearing about Cardinal Wolsey's gold and silver plate, and his more than regal hospitalities; and she was very curious about the gentlewomen who now occupy rooms in Hampton Court Palace, and wanted to know all about their circumstances and ways of life. As for Jack Duncombe, he devoted himself entirely to his hostess; and of course he talked of nothing but this blessed boat.

"Well, you know," he was saying, we must make little mistakes sometimes; an excursion of this kind can't be done right off the reel. If it had been quite easy to do, everybody would have done it. And, besides, this isn't the least like an ordinary house-boat. The ordinary house-boat, as you know, is a great big unwieldy thing, with a square stem; you don't go voyages in her; you contract to get her moved for you, when you want her moved; and then you take down your party of friends, and have sky-larkings. I suppose the builder fancied those boat-hooks would be long enough for all practical purposes; but wait till we get to Staines, and then I'll look about for a right sort of pole. We live and learn. If the people at Hampton Court thought us duffers, they were welcome. We got the boat across, anyway."

"Oh, but you mustn't apologise," she says, kindly. "I'm sure our start has been most successful. And I'm sure, too, that Miss Rosslyn will be delighted with our English scenery, just when it is at its freshest and brightest."

Miss Rosslyn was engaged at the moment—with history.
"It will be far more interesting," the young man said," when

we get away into the unknown districts.

It will be the most

solitary expedition you can imagine. You know, the railways have in many places bought up the canals; and these are almost disused now; if we only can get along, it will be the loneliest trip you ever tried. I hope we are all very good-natured."

"Peggy," she says suddenly, "are you very good-natured?" Peggy looks up, startled.

"No, thank you; I won't have anything more," she says. And then-not noticing the fiendish grin on the face of the woman who pretends to be her friend-Miss Peggy continues—

"Oh, isn't it beautiful!-and the delicious silence-you can't tell how you are going-it feels like a kind of enchantment. That window," she says, regarding the larger one at the bow, "has just the proportions of an upright landscape; and if you sit where I am, you see simply a succession of Corots-those tall poplars, and the glassy stream, and the white sky. I could not have imagined anything so delightful. It is like being wafted through the air"

"If you've all finished," says Jack Duncombe-to whom Miss Peggy's remarks were not addressed—“I'll take a turn aɩ the tiller, and let Murdoch come in to clear away."

So we left the women to the enjoyment of their Corots-or to helping Murdoch, as they felt inclined, and betook ourselves to cigars and steering astern.

Well, it was pleasant enough: the gentle motion; the silence-save for the thrushes and blackbirds; the suffused sunlight; the cool swish of the water along the boat; the gliding by of the placid English landscape, green with the verdure of the opening summer. And perhaps we enjoyed this luxurious idleness all the more that we knew there were harder days ahead of us-days of fighting with low bridges, and opening and closing untended locks; days of distant wanderings and privation, perhaps of anxious responsibility and care. At present our duties were mostly confined to taking a turn at the helm; for as the steersman had to stand on an improvised thwart in order to see over the roof of the house-with his arms supported by the iron stanchions meant for an awning

that spread-eagle attitude could not be maintained for any great length of time. Of course, we ought to have had gear arranged by which the boat could have been steered from the forward deck; but we could not think of everything at the last moment; besides, why should the occupants of the saloon have their Corots spoiled for them by the interposition of a man's legs ?

But if our adventure at Hampton Court was unfortunate, our escapade at Shepperton was entirely lamentable and ignominious. Here the tow-path shifts to the Middlesex side, and the horse has to cross by ferry; and here, once more, Palinurus detaching the rope prematurely, we were left helpless in midstream, with a strong current carrying us down. Now, a man may use a boat-hook as an oar, even as he may use a walkingstick in place of an umbrella; but neither will avail him much; accordingly, we found ourselves drifting broadside on to an island.

"Kott pless me!" we heard Murdoch muttering to himself as he was vainly endeavouring to reach the bottom with one of these sticks, "what iss to be done with a boat like thus ?"

Then a man comes running along the bank.

"Throw us a line, guv'nor!"

Jack Duncombe, who is at the bow, coils up the towing. rope, and heaves it, just getting it ashore. The next instant our opportune friend (his soul no doubt exultant with hopes of a shilling and subsequent beer) has got the line looped round his shoulders; gradually he gets a little way on the boat; Murdoch has to take the tiller again; and in this humiliating fashion we gain entrance to Shepperton Lock.

That was a beautiful afternoon, still and calm and summerlike, up by Chertsey Mead and Laleham. There was not a breath of wind to ruffle the smooth-flowing river; and the perfect reflections of the trees and bushes-in warm hues of yellow-green and olive-were only disturbed when the towingline dipped and hit the surface into a shimmering silver-white. It was a peaceful landscape; very English-looking; in the distance there was a low line of wooded hill, with here and there a church-spire appearing among the trees.