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Within half an hour from the first starting, they were beyond the

winking lamps, and the more than winking watchmen, and were out

upon a lonely road. Another fisherman was picked up here--and

that so silently, that if Young Jerry had been superstitious, he

might have supposed the second follower of the gentle craft to

have, all of a sudden, split himself into two.

The three went on, and Young Jerry went on, until the three

stopped under a bank overhanging the road. Upon the top of the

bank was a low brick wall, surmounted by an iron railing. In the

shadow of bank and wall the three turned out of the road, and up

a blind lane, of which the wall--there, risen to some eight or

ten feet high--formed one side. Crouching down in a corner,

peeping up the lane, the next object that Young Jerry saw, was

the form of his honoured parent, pretty well defined against a

watery and clouded moon, nimbly scaling an iron gate. He was soon

over, and then the second fisherman got over, and then the third.

They all dropped softly on the ground within the gate, and lay

there a little--listening perhaps. Then, they moved away on their

hands and knees.