Then the parcel--ah! that came from Miss Sutton and some of her friends at the West-end. It contained nice articles of clothing. A pair of strong boots, two pink cotton pinafores, some few other things, and a clean, large-print prayerbook. Juliet's face grew so happy over her letter and her presents that, to Mrs. Rowles surprise, it became quite pretty. This was the first time that she had perceived how the girl's ill-tempered countenance spoilt her really good features. "Is she like her father or her mother?" Mr. Rowles inquired of his wife. "But there! she can't be like her father--a pasty-faced, drowsy fellow, always sleeping in the daytime, and never getting a bit of sunshine to freshen him up. Not like some of them, camping out and doing their cooking in the open air, and getting burnt as black as gipsies. There they are--at it again!" And he went out to the lock. There were two boats waiting to go down. The people in one of them were quite unknown to Rowles, but in the second was that middle-aged man who was so determined to learn to row. "How are you getting on, sir?" asked Rowles. "Easier work now, ain't it?" The man seemed unwilling to reply. He had an oar, and with him was a youth in a suit of flannels pulling the other oar, while on the seat sat an elderly gentleman steering. "Did you find it very hard at first?" said the lad to his colleague. "Yes, I did, Mr. Leonard; and I don't find it any too easy now." The old gentleman laughed. "Well, Roberts, take it coolly going down stream, and reserve your energies for coming up. I say, lock-keeper, I am told that you let lodgings; have you any rooms vacant?" "My missus has two rooms, sir," replied Rowles, as he leaned on the great white wooden handle while the lock was emptying through the sluices of the lower gates. "There is a gentleman who generally comes in August, being an upper-class lawyer and can't leave his work till the best of the summer is over, just like printers who lie in bed all day and work all night." "Don't say a word against printers," said the old gentleman laughing. "That won't do, will it Leonard?" "No, father," the youth replied. "So, as I was saying," Rowles went on, "he comes here every August and September, and letters come by the bushel with Q.C. on them; and young Walker--the postman, you know--would just as soon he staid in London. But before August and after September Mrs. Rowles has a tidy little sitting-room and bed-room, if so be as you know anyone would be likely to take them." "I was only thinking," said the gentleman, "that the hotel is rather too expensive--" By this time the boat had floated near to the lower gates. "Hold her up! hold her up!" cried Rowles, "or I can't open the gates. Not you, sir," he added to the stranger who was sculling the other boat; "but you, I mean, Mr. Robert." For Rowles had caught the name of the servant who was so persevering on the river.