“The footpaths would be nice to-day,” urged his niece.

“You try my way,” said the captain, jovially.

“Have you got any particular reason for wanting to go to Dutton Priors this afternoon?” inquired the girl.

“Reason?” said the captain.  “Good gracious, no.  What reason should I have?  My leg is a trifle stiff to-day for stiles, but still—­”

Miss Drewitt gave way at once, and, taking his arm, begged him to lean on her, questioning him anxiously as to his fitness for a walk in any direction.

“Walking’ll do it good,” was the reply, as they proceeded slowly down the High Street.

He took his watch from his pocket, and, after comparing it with the town clock, peered furtively right and left, gradually slackening his pace until Miss Drewitt’s fears for his leg became almost contagious.  At the old stone bridge, spanning the river at the bottom of the High Street, he paused, and, resting his arms on the parapet, became intent on a derelict punt.  On the subject of sitting in a craft of that description in mid-stream catching fish he discoursed at such length that the girl eyed him in amazement.

[Illustration:  “He became intent on a derelict punt.”]

“Shall we go on?” she said, at length.

The captain turned and, merely pausing to point out the difference between the lines of a punt and a dinghy, with a digression to sampans which included a criticism of the Chinese as boat-builders, prepared to depart.  He cast a swift glance up the road as he did so, and Miss Drewitt’s cheek flamed with sudden wrath as she saw Mr. Edward Tredgold hastening towards them.  In a somewhat pointed manner she called her uncle’s attention to the fact.

“Lor’ bless my soul,” said that startled mariner,” so it is.  Well! well!”

If Mr. Tredgold had been advancing on his head he could not have exhibited more surprise.

“I’m afraid I’m late,” said Tredgold, as he came up and shook hands.  “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

The hapless captain coughed loud and long.  He emerged from a large red pocket-handkerchief to find the eye of Miss Drewitt seeking his.

“That’s all right, my lad,” he said, huskily.  “I’d forgotten about our arrangement.  Did I say this Sunday or next?”

“This,” said Mr. Tredgold, bluntly.

The captain coughed again, and with some pathos referred to the tricks which old age plays with memory.  As they walked on he regaled them with selected instances.

“Don’t forget your leg, uncle,” said Miss Drewitt, softly.

Captain Bowers gazed at her suspiciously.

“Don’t forget that it’s stiff and put too much strain on it,” explained his niece.

The captain eyed her uneasily, but she was talking and laughing with Edward Tredgold in a most reassuring fashion.  A choice portion of his programme, which, owing to the events of the afternoon, he had almost resolved to omit, clamoured for production.  He stole another glance at his niece and resolved to risk it.