the most innocent ingredient in it, Master Wheatman, but I must try her
skill in brewing."

She did so, and pronounced it excellent but strong. I tried it too,
rather more copiously, I confess. Indeed, it was good, but to me, I know,
the charm of the cordial this time lay in the thought of the rich red lips
that had touched the flask before mine.

Joe and I then changed places, and I kept hard at the oars until we came
to the reach which ran close up to the "Why Not." Here Joe resumed the
oars and I the ropes.

"This is the only danger-spot," I said. "Yonder are the lights of the
ale-house. On an ordinary night there would be no one about, even if it
mattered if there were, but to-night, when it does matter, there are
thousands of soldiers on the march, and there is some risk of our being
observed."

In another five minutes or so we heard faint snatches of song and bursts
of applause, and shouting and laughing. The "Why Not" was now about a
hundred yards ahead on our left. On the right the bank was lined with
willows which, not having been pollarded for many years, stretched their
long, thin branches well over the river. I ran the boat as far under them
as I could. Joe pulled with short, soft strokes, and we crept slowly
along. For a minute the lighted windows were obscured by the outhouses,
and just as I caught sight of them again, a door was flung open, and the
jumble of noises swelled into a roar of jeering laughter. A young woman
flew out, heedlessly and noisily as a flustered hen, and a burly soldier
lurched after her down the yard. At a whisper, Joe shipped his oars, and I
ran the boat right into the bank. I grabbed in the dark for a hold-to, and