Lotti slumped. An image of her uncle loomed over her. There must be something they could do, there must be …

“The tunnel!” she cried. “If we can make it to the tunnel, we can hide in there!”

“We can’t hide in a tunnel,” said Ben. “It’s not allowed.”

Lotti turned on him in disbelief. “Ben, none of this is allowed!”

Barefoot on the towpath, she began to pace. “We hide in the tunnel, Constable Skinner goes to the second lock, the lock-keeper says he hasn’t seen us, Constable Skinner leaves. Molly, will you be a hero and let us know when the coast is clear?”

Blushing with pleasure at being included, Molly said, “I will.”

Ben’s mind raced. “We’re too slow. We’ll never make it.”

“We have to try, Ben! Molly, is there any way you can slow him down?”

“Yes!” A fierce expression crossed the lock-keeper’s daughter’s face, and she began to undo the shawl which contained her baby brother.

“Take Philip!” she ordered, thrusting him at Lotti.

“What? No! Molly! Molly, come back!”

“No time to explain!” shouted Molly, as she cycled off. “Take him. I’ll get him back later! Go!”

There was no time for thinking, only action.

Lotti shut the dogs in the cabin—nobody wanted a repeat of the duck episode right now—then stood by Ben’s side as he drove away from their mooring, clutching an indignant baby Philip.

“Can’t you go faster?” she begged.

If you have ever been on a narrowboat, you will know that they are not boats you can rush. Narrowboats are not like sailing yachts. They are heavy and take a long time to respond. Slow and steady, that is how narrowboats work best, with small commands. Otherwise disaster ensues.

Against his better judgment, Ben pushed the speed lever forward. Philip, alarmed by the sudden noise, bellowed and kicked out, his foot catching Ben’s elbow. Ben jolted the tiller. He tried to correct the movement, but it was too late.

The Sparrowhawk tilted toward the edge of the canal, hit the bank and stopped.

Ben swore, loudly and extensively.

“What happened?” cried Lotti.

“We’re stuck,” said Ben. “The canal edges must be silted up. Just hope the propeller doesn’t get caught, or we’ll never get out …”

On the roof of the Sparrowhawk there was a strong pole for exactly this sort of situation. As calmly as he could, Ben told Lotti to put the baby down and use the pole to push off the bank. Lotti, also trying to be calm, went into the cabin, laid Philip on Ben’s berth, and wedged him in with pillows.

“Stay here,” she ordered the dogs, who regarded the baby with amazement. “Look after him.”

Then she ran back onto the deck, jumped onto the roof, seized the pole and drove it into the bank.

“Push!” shouted Ben. “Push as hard as you can!”