There was a fresh taste of spring in the air, and the smoke curled clear and blue from the slow-moving barges on the water.

The bare trees on the island showed every twig and thin branch, as if they had been pencilled against the leaden-coloured flood beneath.

A tug puffed fussily upstream, red and yellow markings on its grimy black.
Jenks was asleep in the corner, but he woke as they clattered across the bridge.

"Heigh-ho!" he sighed, stretching.

"Back to the old graft again." Yet once more Peter began to collect his belongings.