a halt, bade the
children alight, and sent the car on to await him at an hotel in the
High Street, recommended by the chauffeur.

"This," said he, examining the bridge, "appears to be of considerable
antiquity. If you'll allow me, I'll repose myself for twenty minutes in
the hoary past." Unfolding a camp stool, he sat down to sketch.

The children and 'Dolph, left to themselves, wandered across the bridge.
The road beyond it stretched out through the last skirts of the town,
and across the head of a wide green level dotted with groups of
pasturing kine; and again beyond this enormous pasture were glimpses of
small white sails gliding in and out, in the oddest fashion, behind
clumps of trees and--for aught they could see--on dry land.

The sight of these sails drew them on until, lo! on a sudden they looked
upon a bridge, far newer and wider than the one behind them, spanning a
river far more majestic than Avon. Of the white sails some were tacking
against its current, others speeding down stream with a brisk breeze;
and while the children stood there at gaze, a small puffing tug emerged
from under the great arch of the bridge with a dozen barges astern of
her in a long line--boats with masts, and bulkier than any known to
Tilda. They seemed to her strong enough to hoist sail and put out to
sea on their own account, instead of crawling thus in the wake of a tug.

There was an old road-mender busy by the bridge end, shovelling together
the road scrapings in small heaps. He looked up and nodded. His face
was kindly, albeit a trifle foolish, and he seemed disposed to talk.

"Good day!" said Tilda. "Can you tell us where the boats are goin'?"

The old road mender glanced over the parapet.

"Eh? The trows, d'ee mean?"

"Trows? Is that what they are?"

"Aye; and they be goin' down to Glo'ster first, an' thence away to
Sharpness Dock. They go through the Glo'ster an' Berkeley, and at
Sharpness they finish."

"Is that anywhere in the Bristol Channel?" The old man ruminated for a
moment.

"You may call it so. Gettin' on for that, anyway. Fine boats they be;
mons'rously improved in my time. But where d'ee come from, you two?--
here in Tewkesbury, an' not to know about Severn trows?"

"We've--er--jus' run over here for the afternoon, in a motor," said
Tilda--and truthfully; but it left the old man gasping.

The children strolled on, idling by the bridge's parapet, watching the
strong current, the small