I shouted to him before I reached him: "Hello! did you see a boat--a house, I mean,--floating up the river ?" "A boat-house ?" asked the man.
"No, a house-boat," I gasped.
"Didn't see nuthin' like it," said the man, and he passed on, to his wife and home, no doubt.

But me! Oh, where was my wife and my home?
I met several people, but none of them had seen a fugitive canal-boat.
How many thoughts came into my brain as I ran along that river road! If that wretched boarder had not taken the rudder for an ironing table he might have steered in shore! Again and again I confounded--as far as mental ejaculations could do it--his suggestions.
I was rapidly becoming frantic when I met a person who hailed me.
"Hello!" he said, "are you after a canal-boat adrift ?" "Yes," I panted.
"I thought you was," he said.

"You looked that way.

Well, I can tell you where she is.

She's stuck fast in the reeds at the lower end o' Peter's Pint." "Where's that ?" said I.
"Oh, it's about a mile furder up.