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Updated: May 11, 2025
As I thanked the old lady and bade her good day, she called to me to hold out my hat, which she filled with cherries, and then stood at the door and watched us out of sight. There was a railway station in Pyebridge, and we might easily have escaped from Mr. Rowe, and gone by train to London. But besides the fact that our funds were becoming low, the water had a new attraction for us.
Rowe took off his hat and took out his handkerchief, though it was no longer hot. Having cleared his brain, he said he "would see," and he finally led us along one of the pebbled streets of Pyebridge to a small house with a small shop-window for the sale of vegetables, and with a card announcing that there were beds to let.
Towards evening the canal banks became dotted with fishers of all ages and degrees, fishing very patiently, though they did not seem to catch much. Soon after dark we reached the town of Pyebridge. When the barge lay-to for the night, and the driver was taking the horse away to the stable, Mr.
Rowe, removing his hat, and mopping himself with his very useful pocket-handkerchief. "Jem, there's a bit of grass there, let her have a mouthful." "I thought you'd like this," he continued; "there ain't a prettier bit between here and Pyebridge." It was so lovely, that the same idea seized both Fred and me: Why not settle here, at least for a time?
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