At last somebody
threw the barge-master a bag of something (fortunately soft) which he
was leaving behind, and which he chucked on to the top of my head.
Then the driver called to his horse, and the barge gave a jerk, which
threw Fred on to the pie, and in a moment more we were gliding slowly
and smoothly down the stream.
When we were fairly off we ventured to peep out a little, and stretch
our cramped limbs. There was no one on board but the barge-master,
and he was at the other end of the vessel, smoking and minding his
rudder. The driver was walking on the towing-path by the old grey
horse. The motion of the boat was so smooth that we seemed to be lying
still whilst villages and orchards and green banks and osier-beds went
slowly by, as though the world were coming to show itself to us,
instead of our going out to see the world.
When we passed the town we felt some anxiety for fear we should be
stopped; but there was no one on the bank, and though the towers of S.
Philip and S. James appeared again and again in lessening size as we
looked back, there came at last a bend in the canal, when a high bank
of gorse shut out the distance, and we saw them no more.
In about an hour, having had no breakfast, we began to speak seriously
of the pie.
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