They had walked till they had reached a wharf, just above a
lock. There an empty barge, painted with a red and yellow cabin
hood, but with a long, coal-black hold, was lying moored. A man,
lean and grimy, was sitting on a box against the cabin-side by
the door, smoking, and nursing a baby that was wrapped in a drab
shawl, and looking into the glow of evening. A woman bustled
out, sent a pail dashing into the canal, drew her water, and
bustled in again. Children's voices were heard. A thin blue
smoke ascended from the cabin chimney, there was a smell of
cooking.
Ursula, white as a moth, lingered to look. Skrebensky
lingered by her. The man glanced up.
"Good evening," he called, half impudent, half attracted. He
had blue eyes which glanced impudently from his grimy face.
"Good evening," said Ursula, delighted. "Isn't it
nice now?"
"Ay," said the man, "very nice."
His mouth was red under his ragged, sandy moustache. His
teeth were white as he laughed.
"Oh, but--" stammered Ursula, laughing, "it is. Why do
you say it as if it weren't?"
"'Appen for them as is childt-nursin' it's none so rosy."
"May I look inside your barge?" asked Ursula.
"There's nobody'll stop you; you come if you like."
The barge lay at the opposite bank, at the wharf. It was the
Annabel, belonging to J. Ruth of Loughborough. The man
watched Ursula closely from his keen, twinkling eyes. His fair
hair was wispy on his grimed forehead. Two dirty children
appeared to see who was talking.
Ursula glanced at the great lock gates. They were shut, and
the water was sounding, spurting and trickling down in the gloom
beyond. On this side the bright water was almost to the top of
the gate. She went boldly across, and round to the wharf.
Stooping from the bank, she peeped into the cabin, where was
a red glow of fire and the shadowy figure of a woman. She did
want to go down.
"You'll mess your frock," said the man, warningly.
"I'll be careful," she answered. "May I come?"
"Ay, come if you like."
She gathered her skirts, lowered her foot to the side of the
boat, and leapt down, laughing. Coal-dust flew up.
The woman came to the door. She was plump and sandy-haired,
young, with an odd, stubby nose.
"Oh, you will make a mess of yourself," she cried,
surprised and laughing with a little wonder.
"I did want to see. Isn't it lovely living on a barge?" asked
Ursula.
"I don't live on one altogether," said the woman
cheerfully.
"She's got her parlour an' her plush suite in Loughborough,"
said her husband with just pride.
Ursula peeped into the cabin, where saucepans were boiling
and some dishes were on the table. It was very hot. Then she
came out again. The man was talking to the baby. It was a
blue-eyed, fresh-faced thing with floss of red-gold hair.