l," said the Bargee, more gently, "cut along, then, and don't you do
it again, that's all."

The children hurried up the bank.

"Chuck us a coat, M'ria," shouted the man. And a red-haired woman in a
green plaid shawl came out from the cabin door with a baby in her arms
and threw a coat to him. He put it on, climbed the bank, and slouched
along across the bridge towards the village.

"You'll find me up at the 'Rose and Crown' when you've got the kid to
sleep," he called to her from the bridge.

When he was out of sight the children slowly returned. Peter insisted on
this.

"The canal may belong to him," he said, "though I don't believe it
does. But the bridge is everybody's. Doctor Forrest told me it's public
property. I'm not going to be bounced off the bridge by him or anyone
else, so I tell you."

Peter's ear was still sore and so were his feelings.

The girls followed him as gallant soldiers might follow the leader of a
forlorn hope.

"I do wish you wouldn't," was all they said.

"Go home if you're afraid," said Peter; "leave me alone. I'M not
afraid."

The sound of the man's footsteps died away along the quiet road. The
peace of the evening was not broken by the notes of the sedge-warblers
or by the voice of the woman in the barge, singing her baby to sleep. It
was a sad song she sang. Something about Bill Bailey and how she wanted
him to come home.

The children stood leaning their arms on the parapet of the bridge; they
were glad to be quiet for a few minutes because all three hearts were
beating much more quickly.

"I'm not going to be driven away by any old bargeman, I'm not," said
Peter, thickly.

"Of course not," Phyllis said soothingly; "you didn't give in to him! So
now we might go home, don't you think?"

"NO," said Peter.

Nothing more was said till the woman got off the barge, climbed the
bank, and came across the bridge.

She hesitated, looking at the three backs of the children, then she
said, "Ahem."

Peter stayed as he was, but the girls looked round.

"You mustn't take no notice of my Bill," said the woman; "'is bark's
worse'n 'is bite. Some of the kids down Farley way is fair terrors. It
was them put 'is back up calling out about who ate the puppy-pie under
Marlow bridge."

"Who DID?" asked Phyllis.

"_I_ dunno," said the woman. "Nobody don't know! But somehow, and I
don't know the why nor the wherefore of it, them words is p'ison to a
barge-master. Don't you take no not