Even the prime grumbler of the earth--a
biped, who looks up to heaven for that purpose mainly--was as nearly
content with the present state of things as he can be with anything,
until it is the past. Scudamore only met one man, but that one declared
it was a lovely night; and perhaps he was easier to please because he
had only one leg left.
The stars had appeared, and the young leaves turned the freshness of
their freedom towards them, whether from the crisp impulse of night,
or the buoyant influence of kindness in the air. There was very little
wind, and it was laden with no sound, except the distant voice of
an indefatigable dog; but Scudamore perceived that when the tide set
downwards, a gentle breeze would follow down the funnel of the river.
Then he drew the ancient boat which he had used before to the mossy
bank, and having placed his goods on board, fetched a pair of oars and
the short mast and brown sail from the shed where they were kept, and
at the top of a full tide launched forth alone upon his desperate
enterprise.
There was faint light in the channel, but the banks looked very dark;
and just as he cast loose he heard the big clock at Montreuil, a great
way up the valley, slowly striking midnight. And he took it for good
omen, as he swiftly passed the orchard, that his old friend the ox
trotted down to the corner, and showed his white forehead under a
sprawling apple-tree, and gave him a salute, though he scarcely could
have known him.
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