awoke. They would fend for themselves, Tilda engaged, and
remain in hiding all day along the river-bank below the town.
Really, when the Fat Lady thought it over, this appeared the only
feasible plan. But first she insisted on cooking them a breakfast of
fried sausages and boiled eggs, which she managed to do without stirring
from her couch, directing Tilda how to light the stove, and where to
find the utensils and the provender; and next she packed a basket for
them with a loaf of bread and some slices of cold ham.

Thus furnished, they bade her good-bye for the day, left the dubious
'Dolph in her charge, and tip-toeing past the rear of the caravan where
slept the dreaded Gavel, gained the meadow's end, passed a weed-grown
ruinated lock below the churchyard, and struck into a footpath that led
down-stream between the river and a pretty hanging copse. Below this a
high road crossed the river. Following it, they passed over a small
tributary stream that wound between lines of pollard willows, and so
headed off to their right and regained the Avon's bank.

The boy led. It seemed that the westward-running stream called to him,
and that his feet trod to the tune of it. Tilda remembered this later.
He was always a silent boy, and he gave no explanation; but she saw
that the running water woke a new excitement in him. So long as they
had followed the stagnant canal he had been curious, alert, inquisitive
of every bend and bush. It was as if he had understood water by
instinct, and yet the water had hitherto baffled and disappointed him.
Now it ran, and he ran too. She had much ado to keep pace with him. By
and by she halted by a clump of willows and seated herself, announcing
hypocritically that she was tired.

He heard, and came back contritely.

"I forgot," he said. "What has become of your crutch?"

"I left it be'ind yesterday, in the boat. There wasn' no time to go
back for it."

"I am very sorry."

Tilda's conscience smote her.

"There ain't no reason to fret about _me_," she said reassuringly.
"But what's taken you? There's no catchin' up with the water, however
fast you run."

"It leads down to the Island. It _must_," he announced, conning the
stream.

"Think so?"

She too conned it, but could read nothing of his faith in the wimpled
surface.

"Sure."

The light in his eyes impressed if it did not convince her.

"Well, maybe we'll 'ave a try to-morrow," she conceded after a while.
"Bu