The work was laborious, and cost him the best part of an hour.  For he had to open and shut each pair of gates single-handed, using a large iron key to lift and close the sluices; and, moreover, Mr. Mortimer, though he did his best, was inexpert at guiding the boat into the lock-chamber and handling her when there.  A dozen times Sam had to call to him to haul closer down towards the bottom gates and avoid fouling his rudder.

The children watched the whole operation from shore, now and then lending their small weight to push open the long gate-beams.  ’Dolph, too, watched from shore; suspiciously at first, afterwards with a studied air of boredom, which he relieved by affecting, whenever the heel of a stern-post squeaked in its quoin, to mistake it for a rat—­an excuse for aimless snuffling, whining and barking.  And Mrs. Mortimer looked on from the well by the cabin door, saucepan in hand, prepared to cook at the shortest notice.  It was fascinating to see her, at first in the almost brimming lock, majestically erect (she was a regal figure) challenging the horizon with a gaze at once proud, prescient of martyrdom, and prepared; and then, as Sam opened the sluices, to watch her descend, inch by inch, into the dark lock-chamber.  Each time this happened Mr. Mortimer exhorted her—­“Courage, my heart’s best!”—­and she made answer each time, “Nay, Stanislas, I have no terrors.”

Mr. Mortimer, at the fifth lock, left Old Jubilee and walked around to remark to Tilda that on the boards some such apparatus—­“if it could be contrived at moderate expense”—­would be remarkably effective in the drowning scene of The Colleen Bawn; or, in the legitimate drama, for the descent of Faustus into hell; “or, by means of a gauze transparency, the death of Ophelia might be indicated.  I mention Ophelia because it was in that part my Arabella won what—­if the expression may be used without impropriety—­I will term her spurs.  I am given to understand, however,” added Mr. Mortimer, “that the apparatus requires a considerable reservoir, and a reservoir of any size is only compatible with fixity of tenure.  An Ishmael—­a wanderer upon the face of the earth—­buffeted this way and that by the chill blast of man’s ingratitude, more keenly toothed (as our divine Shakespeare observed) than winter’s actual storm—­but this by the way; it is not mine to anticipate more stable fortune, but rather to say with Lear—­”

   “‘Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!’”

“I merely drop the suggestion—­and I pass on.”

He folded his arms and passed on.  That is to say, he strode off in a hurry at a summons from Sam to stand by and pole the boat clear as the lower lock-gates were opened.

Somehow Tilda divined that Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer were in high spirits this morning, and it was with reasonable confidence that, after they had moored below locks and breakfasted, she sought Sam—­who had withdrawn to the bows with his account book—­and inquired how the performance had gone off.