“Oh, then it must be some one different altogether. The young party I heard of was about a year ago, and they did say she was going to her father’s funeral, whether that day or the next, I won’t be certain. My poor Moggs begins to get queer in the head, from being so much on the water, no doubt. He is right about most things, and you may take his word for untold gold, Mr. Orchardson. Such a man of his word never lived, I do believe. Sometimes I say it is unnatural, and he ought to try to break himself; for if every one was like him, where would business be? But without days and months, he is wrong more than right, even when he have been to church and heard the psalms. No, no, sir; he have put you in the wrong boat altogether. It can’t have been any of our people.” “You are sure to know best;” said my uncle, looking at her, in a very peculiar way of his, which was apt to mean—“You are a liar;” and she seemed to know well what was meant by it. “Mrs. Moggs, we are much obliged to you. Remember me to your worthy husband”—he laid a little stress on the adjective—“as soon as he comes back from Southsea. Or rather when you join him there. What station do you find most convenient?” “Woking, sir; there are others nearer. But that is the first where all trains stop, without you go back to Surbiton. ’Tis a long drive to Woking; but they will soon come nearer, according to what I hear of it. How they do cut up the country, to be sure! They are talking of a lot of cross-lines already. But the river is the true line, made by the Lord, and ever so much more pleasant.” “So it is, Mrs. Moggs; and quite fast enough for me, when it isn’t frozen over, as it was last winter. Ah, you must have had a bad time then! But I am glad to have found you so flourishing. Good-bye, and we are very much obliged to you.” “Oh, the liar!” he cried, as we shot out of hearing. “Put a beggar on horseback—it is the truest saying. Here comes a boat of theirs, by the colour! Hold hard a moment, Kit; I want to ask a question.” Easing oars, we glided gently past a light boat fitted for double sculling, with only one young fellow in it, perhaps an apprentice. “Young man,” said my uncle; “we want to know the name of your best doctor here in Shepperton. Your governor is an old friend of mine. What’s the name of the one he goes to?” “He!” cried the young fellow, balancing his sculls; “he never been to no doctor in his life. Don’t look as if he wanted one, do he? Oh, I wish I was as tough as the old bloke is.”