should 'ave one o' gold."

"It is time I was at home," said Catharine, rising with as much presence
of mind as she could muster; "and I should think it must be your dinner-
hour."

"Damn my dinner-hour, when I've got the chance of sittin' alongside a gal
with sich eyes as yourn, my beauty. Why, you make me all of a tremble.
Sit down for a bit."

Catharine moved away, but the bargee caught her round the waist.

"Sit down, I tell yer, jist for a minute. Who's a-goin' to hurt yer?"

It was of no use to resist, and she did not scream. She sat down, and
his arm relaxed its hold to pick up his pipe which had fallen on the
other side. Instantly, without a second's hesitation she leaped up, and,
before his heavy bulk could lift itself, she had turned and rushed along
the bank. Had she made for the bridge, he would have overtaken her in
the lane, but she went the other way. About fifty yards down the stream,
and in the direction of Chapel Farm, was a deep hole in the river bed,
about five feet wide. On the other side of it there were not more than
eighteen inches of water at any point. Catharine knew that hole well, as
the haunt of the jack and the perch. She reached it, cleared it at a
bound, and alighted on the bit of shingle just beyond it. Her pursuer
came up and stared at her silently, with his mouth half open. Just at
that moment the instant sound of wheels was heard, and he slowly
sauntered back to his barge. Catharine boldly waded over the intervening
shallows, and was across just as the cart reached the top of the bridge,
but her shoes remained behind her in the mud. It proved to be her