As a rule, Mr. Rowe could give us no names for the aquatic plants at
which we clutched as we went by, nor for the shells we got out of the
mud; but his eye for a water-rat was like a terrier's. It was the only
thing which seemed to excite him.

About mid-day we stopped by a village, where Mr. Rowe had business.
The horse was to rest and bait here; and the barge-master told us that
if we had "a shilling or so about" us, we might dine on excellent
bread and cheese at the _White Lion_, or even go so far as poached
eggs and yet more excellent bacon, if our resources allowed of it. We
were not sorry to go ashore. There was absolutely no shelter on the
deck of the barge from the sunshine, which was glaringly reflected by
the water. The inn parlour was low, but it was dark and cool. I felt
doubtful about the luxury even of cheese after that beefsteak-pie but
Fred smacked his lips and ordered eggs and bacon, and I paid for them
out of the canvas-bag.

As we sat together I said, "I wrote a letter to my mother, Fred. Did
you write to Mrs. Johnson?"

Fred nodded, and pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket,
saying, "That's the letter; but I made a tidy copy of it afterwards."

I have said that Fred was below me in class, though he is older; and
he was very bad at spelling. Otherwise the letter did very well,
except for smudges.

"DEAR MOTHER,