boats as they tacked to and fro. Up stream
another tug hove in sight, also with a line of trows behind her. This
became exciting, and Tilda suggested waiting and dropping a stone--a
very small one--upon the tug's deck as she passed under the archway.

"If only she could take us on!" said Arthur Miles.

"We'd 'ave to drop a big stone for _that_," Tilda opined.

And with that suddenly 'Dolph, who had been chasing a robin, and
immersed in that futile sport, started to bark--uneasily and in small
yaps at first, then in paroxysms interrupted by eager whines.

"W'y wot the matter with 'im?" asked Tilda.

"Look now!"

For the dog had sprung upon the parapet and stood there, with neck
extended and body quivering as he saluted the on-coming tug.

"'E can't see . . . No, surely, it can't be--" said Tilda, staring.

The tug was so near by this time that they could read her name, _Severn
Belle_, on the bows. Two men stood on her deck--one aft at the tiller
(for she had no wheel-house), the other a little forward of midships,
leaning over the port bulwarks; this latter a stoker apparently, or an
engineer, or a combination of both; for he was capless, and wore a
smoke-grimed flannel shirt, open at the breast.

Tilda could see this distinctly as the tug drew near; for the man was
looking up, staring steadily at the dog on the parapet. His chest was
naked. A cake of coal-dust obscured his features.

"It can't be," said Tilda; and then, as the tug drew close, she flung
herself against the parapet. "Bill! Oh, Bill!"

"Cheer-oh!" answered a voice, now already among the echoes of the arch.

"Oh, Bill! . . . _Where?_" She had run across the roadway. "Oh, Bill--
take us!"

The boy running too--yet not so quickly as 'Dolph--caught a vision of a
face upturned in blankest amazement as tug and barges swept down stream
out of reach. But still Tilda hailed, beating back the dog, to silence
his barking.

"Oh, Bill! Where're yer goin'?"

As she had cried it, so in agony she listened for the response.
It came; but Arthur Miles could not distinguish the word, nor tell if
Tilda had heard better. She had caught his hand, and they were running
together as fast as their small legs could carry them.

The chase was hopeless from the first. The tug, in midstream, gave no
sign of drawing to shore. Somehow--but exactly how the boy could never
tell--they were racing after her down the immense length of the green
meadow.

It s