-me-nots."

"Yes, I know; but Juliet is not Emily."

This could not be denied. It accounted for Juliet's absence, but it
did not bring her home.

Dozens of boats went up the river, and dozens went down. Rowles said
to the occupants of each of them, "If you should see a girl of
thirteen what has got lost, be so good as to tell her to come home
double-quick, or it will be worse for her."

Some of the people laughed, and some said "Very well;" but evening
deepened into night without bringing Juliet.

The last boat was that of the old gentleman's butler, or valet, or
whatever he liked to call himself. When Rowles made his speech about
the missing girl, the man replied, "I know; that is the child whose
father is a printer. Mr. Burnet takes an interest in that child, being
himself a master-printer, and the son of a journeyman printer."

"The son of a journeyman printer!" Rowles repeated. "You don't say so,
Mr. Robert?"

"Yes, I do say it. My Mr. Burnet's father began life at the bottom of
the ladder, and ended it near the top; and my Mr. Burnet began life
near the top, and is ending it quite at the top. Hard work, Mr.
Rowles, hard work, perseverance, honesty, and temperance; that's what
does it. Your little girl's father may get to the top of the tree
yet."

"Not with his bad health," replied Rowles, shaking his head; "and not
without his proper night's sleep."

"They make up their sleep in the daytime," said the other, beginning
to push his boat out of the lock which was now full. "I've got
relations of my own in the same line, so I know they can make up their
sleep in the daytime. Well, good-night; if I see the girl I'll hurry
her home."

"Good--night, Mr. Robert. I'm glad you've learnt to manage your boat."

As Roberts went off his voice was heard saying, "It is hard work, and
perseverance, and honesty, and temperance that does it." And he was
not wrong.

Ten o'clock came. The lock-house was closed, and all its inmates went
to bed. Mrs. Rowles had little sleep, watching all night for Juliet's
knock. But it did not come.

At six o'clock next morning Mr. Rowles went out to look up and down
the river, and to prophesy the weather. It was still and cloudless and
warm. While he was standing idly beside the running water, listening
to the twitter of birds and the lowing of cows, he heard yet another
cry, that of a man; and presently he saw on the far-off bank the
figure of a big, burly man with a bushy beard.