and up the long white quiet twilit road towards the Rose and Crown.
There is a nice old-fashioned room at the Rose and Crown where Bargees and their wives sit of an evening drinking their supper beer, and toasting their supper cheese at a glowing basketful of coals that sticks out into the room under a great hooded chimney and is warmer and prettier and more comforting than any other fireplace I ever saw.
There was a pleasant party of barge people round the fire. You might not have thought it pleasant, but they did; for they were all friends or acquaintances, and they liked the same sort of things, and talked the same sort of talk. This is the real secret of pleasant society. The Bargee Bill, whom the children had found so disagreeable, was considered excellent company by his mates. He was telling a tale of his own wrongs—always a thrilling subject. It was his barge he was speaking.
"And 'e sent down word 'paint her insidehout,' not namin' no color, d'ye see? So I gets a lotter green paint and I paints her stern to stern, and I tell yer she looked A 1. Then 'e comes along and 'e says, 'Wot yer paint 'er all one colour for?' 'e says. And I says, says I, 'Cause I thought she'd look fust-rate says I, 'and I think so still.' An'
