It plunged so steeply, and the houses on either side wedged it in so tightly, that to look down from the top was like peering into a well.

A patch of blue water shone at the foot, framing a small dark square--the signboard of the "Four Lords" Inn.

Just now there were two or three men gathered under the signboard.
As Young Zeb drew near he saw that they wore pig-tails and round shiny hats: and, as he noticed this, his face, which had been pale for the last five minutes, grew ashen-white.

He halted for a moment, and then went on again, meaning to pass the signboard and wait on the quay for the ferry.
There were half a dozen sailors in front of the "Four Lords." Three sat on a bench beside the door, and three more, with mugs of beer in their hands, were skylarking in the middle of the roadway.
"Hi!" called out one of those on the bench, as Zeb passed.

And Zeb turned round and came to a halt again.
"What is it ?" "Where 're ye bound, mate ?" "For the ferry." "Then stop an' drink, for the boat left two minutes since an' won't be back for another twenty." Zeb hung on his heel for a couple of seconds.