"Do you think I might give your father something for letting me come up along with you?" I said. Jack stared in a dull, stolid way for a moment, the idea being so novel to him. Then his face lit up and he checked the horses. "Hold on, fey-ther," he shouted; and as if it was quite right to obey his son's words, the great fellow steered the long barge so that it came close in. "There's a beer-shop," said Jack, pointing to a place close by the towing-path, all glorious with blue and gold announcements of Barclay, Perkins and Co.'s Entire. "You go and get a pot o' porter--it's threepence ha'penny, mind--and give it the old man; we'll wait." I ran up to the door of the public-house and asked the man in shirt-sleeves and white apron for a pot of porter, which he drew in the bright pewter vessel, and I paid for it with one of my sixpences, received my change, and then had to make solemn assurance that I would bring back the pot before I was allowed to take it down to the canal-side, where Jack and his father were waiting. The latter's face was as stolid as ever as I went up to him; but there was a little extra opening of his eyes as he saw the foaming liquid in the bright pewter and stretched out his hand. "Beer ain't good for boys," he said gruffly; and then, blowing off the froth, he put the vessel to his lips, and slowly poured it all down, without stopping, to the very last drop; after which he uttered a heavy sigh of either pleasure or regret, and brought his eyes to bear on me. "Feyther likes a drop o' beer," said Jack. "Ketch!" said "father," and he threw the empty pot to me, which luckily I caught, and stood watching him as he went to the tiller. "Go on!" Jack gave me a nod, cracked his whip, and the horses drew the slack rope along the cindery tow-path till it was tight. Jack's father paused in the act of refilling his pipe and gave me another nod, and Jack's mother's head came above the hatchway to stare at me as the barge moved, and I stood watching it with my bundle under my arm and the bright pewter vessel in my hand. My reverie was interrupted by a shout from the public-house door, and I took the pot back, to return once more to the towing-path, sick at heart and despondent, as I thought of the pleasant days of my short vagabond career. It was like parting with very good friends, and I sat down at last upon a log, one of a pile of timber, full of regrets; for these rough people had in their way been very kind to me, and I thought that perhaps I should never see them any more. CHAPTER TWELVE. MY FIRST NIGHT IN TOWN. I did not sit thinking long, for I felt that I must be up and doing. The long barge had crept silently away and was out of sight, but I felt that after my dismissal I ought not to follow it; so I crossed a bridge over the canal and went on and on between rows of houses and along streets busy with vehicles coming and going, and plenty of people.