The Rosery Folk Part 11

"I think it would be delightful," said Lady Scarlett.

"Oh, yes," said Naomi. "Those islands are so beautiful."

"I don't think any part could be more beautiful than where we are," said Aunt Sophia, rather shortly.

"Oh, yes, it is, aunt, dear," said Scarlett. "There you trust to me."

"Well, it seems I must, for we women are very helpless here."

"Oh, you may trust us, aunt. We won't take you into any danger."

As they were speaking the boat was rowed round a sharp curve to where the river on each side was embowered in trees, and stretching apparently like a bridge from side to side was one of the many weirs that cross the stream; while from between its piles, in graceful curves a row of little waterfalls flowed down, each arc of water glistening golden and many-tinted in the evening sun.

"There!" cried Scarlett.--"Easy, Jack.--What do you think of that, aunt, for a view?"

"Yes," said the old lady thoughtfully; "it is very sweet."

"A very poet's dream," said Prayle softly, as he rested his elbow on the gunwale of the boat, his chin upon his hand.

"It is one of my husband's favourite bits," said Lady Scarlett, smiling in the face of him she named.--"Look, Naomi; that is the fishing-cottage, there on the left."

"I have not seen the weir for years--twenty years," said Aunt Sophia thoughtfully; "and then it was from the carriage, as we drove along the road."

"Not half so good a view as this," said Scarlett.--"Now, then, we'll go through the lock, row up for a mile by the Dell woods, and then back."

"But you will be tired, my dear," said Aunt Sophia, whom the beauty of the scene seemed to have softened; and her worn sharp face looked wistful and strange.

"Tired?" said Lady Scarlett, laughing. "Oh, no, aunt; he's never tired."

"Well," said Scarlett, with a bright look at his wife, "I'll promise one thing--when we're tired, we'll turn back."

"Yes, dear; but there's all the way to return."

"Oh, the river takes us back itself, aunt," said Lady Scarlett merrily.

"Row up; and then float back."

"Ah, well, my dears, I am in your hands," said Aunt Sophia softly; "but don't take me into danger, please."

"All right, auntie--There's one of the prettiest bits," he added, pointing to where the trees on the right bank opened, showing a view of the hills beyond.--"Now, Jack, pull."

Ten minutes' sharp rowing brought them up to the stout piles that guarded the entrance to the lock, whose slimy doors were open; and as they approached, they could see the further pair, with the water hissing and spirting through in tiny streams, making a strange echo from the perpendicular stone walls that rose up a dozen feet on either side.

"Lock, lock, lock, lock!" shouted Scarlett in his mellow tones, as the boat glided in between the walls, and Aunt Sophia turned pale.

"They shut us up here, don't they, James, and then let the water in?"

"Till we are on a level with the river above, and then open the other pair," said Scarlett quietly. "Don't be alarmed."

"But I am, my dear," said the old lady earnestly. "My nerves are not what they were."

"Of course not," said the doctor kindly.--"I wouldn't go through, old fellow," he continued to Scarlett. "Let's paddle about below the weir."

"To be sure," said Scarlett, as he saw his aunt's alarm. "I brought you out to enjoy yourselves.--Here--hi!" he cried, standing up in the boat, and making Aunt Sophia lean forward, as if to catch him and save him from going overboard.--"All right, auntie.--Hi!--catch!" he cried to the lock-keeper, throwing him a shilling. "We won't go through."

The man did not make an effort to catch the money, but stooped in a heavy dreamy manner to pick it up, staring stolidly at the occupants of the boat.

Aunt Sophia uttered a sigh of relief, one that seemed to be echoed from behind her, where Arthur Prayle was seated, looking of a sallow sickly grey, but with his colour rapidly coming back as they reached the open s.p.a.ce below the weir, where the water at once seemed to seize the boat and to sweep it downwards, but only to be checked and rowed upwards again towards the weir.

"There, auntie, look over the side," cried Scarlett. "Can you see the stones?"

"Yes, my dear," said Aunt Sophia, who was evidently mastering a good deal of trepidation. "Is it all shallow like this?"

"Oh, no. Up yonder, towards the piles, there are plenty of holes fifteen and twenty feet deep, scoured out by the falling water when it comes over in a flood. See how clear and bright it is."

Aunt Sophia sat up rigidly; but her two companions leaned over on each side to look down through the limpid rushing stream at the stones and gravel, over which shot away in fear, shoal after shoal of silvery dace, with here and there some bigger, darker fish that had been lying head to stream, patiently waiting for whatever good might come.

"Yes, my dears, it is very beautiful," said Aunt Sophia. "But you are going very near the falling water, James. It will be tumbling in the boat."

"Oh, we'll take care of that, auntie," said Scarlett merrily. "Trust to your boatman, ma'am, and he will take you safe.--What say, Arthur?"

"I say, are there any large fish here?"

"Large fish, my boy? Wait a moment.--Pull, Jack." They rowed close up to a clump of piles, driven in to save the bank from the constant washing of the stream.--"Now, look down, old fellow," continued Scarlett, "close in by the piles. It's getting too late to see them well. It ought to be when the sun is high.--Well, what can you see?"

"A number of dark shadowy forms close to bottom," said Prayle.

"Ay, shoals of them. Big barbel, some as long as your arm, my lad--ten and twelve pounders. Come down some day and we'll have a good try for them."

"Don't go too near, dear," cried Aunt Sophia.

"All right, auntie.--Here, Jack, take the boat-hook, and hold on a moment while I get out the cigars and matches.--Ladies, may we smoke?

Our work is done."

"A bad habit, James," said Aunt Sophia, shaking her head at him.

"But he has so few bad habits, aunt," said Lady Scarlett, smiling.

"And you encourage him in those, my dear," said Aunt Sophia.--"There sir, go on."

"Won't you have a cigar, Arthur?"

"Thank you; no," said Prayle, with a grave smile. "I never smoke."

"Good young man!" said the doctor to himself as he lit up.

"Man after your own heart, aunt," said Scarlett merrily, as he resumed his oar; and for the next half-hour they rowed about over the swiftly running water, now dyed with many a hue, the reflections from the gorgeous clouds that hovered over the ruddy sinking sun. The dancing wavelets flashed and sparkled with orange and gold: the shadows grew more intense, beneath the trees; while in one portion of the weir, where a pile or two had rotted away, the water ran down in one smooth soft curve, like so much molten metal poured from some mighty furnace into the hissing, boiling stream below.

"I never saw it so beautiful before," cried Scarlett excitedly. "It is lovely indeed.--Look, aunt.--Why, Arthur, it was worth a journey to see."