This time, as before, when he found his attendant not to be shaken off, Bradley suddenly turned back. This time, as before, Riderhood turned back along with him. But, not this time, as before, did they go into the lock-house, for Bradley came to a stand on the snow-covered turf by the lock, looking up the river and down the river. Navigation was impeded by the frost, and the scene was a mere white and yellow desert.

“Come, come, Master,” urged Riderhood, at his side. “This is a dry game. And where’s the good of it? You can’t get rid of me, except by coming to a settlement. I am a going along with you wherever you go.”

Without a word of reply, Bradley passed quickly from him over the wooden bridge on the lock gates. “Why, there’s even less sense in this move than t’other,” said Riderhood, following. “The weir’s there, and you’ll have to come back, you know.”