IRotes of tbe 



been confused on attempting to identify them. 

 Here was opportunity to test Pullen's water- 

 craft, and I put it to the proof. "Tell me, as 

 you hear them," I said, "what makes these 

 sounds, croaks, grunts, and whistles." 



" So you don't know a duck's whistle, eh ? " he 

 replied contemptuously. " Well, there's more than 

 one that can whistle clear as a fife; and then 

 there's fish that come to the top o' the water and 

 sort o' splutter. Noises ! why, man, except in the 

 dead o' winter, you '11 always have noises along 

 the river." 



The rippling of the water under the boat's 

 stern was music, and what wild imaginings when 

 some more sturdy matter than a wave struck the 

 boat's bottom. I did not exclaim " What 's that ? " 

 at every new sensation, for Bill was sick of his 

 bargain and sullen. I left him to the enjoyment 

 of his pipe and private thoughts, for the moon 

 was now shining above the tree-tops. What ques- 

 tions I asked, I asked of myself; and if wrongly 

 answered, there is no one to blame. There's 

 always satisfaction in that. 



For some distance beyond the boat the water 

 was black as ink ; then a fitful pearly tint showed 

 where the waves were crested, and beyond the 

 first real silvering of the water was seen a mere 

 shining thread that sank and rose like floating 

 phosphorescent twigs. Steadily, as the moon 

 reached nearer overhead, the lights grew brighter, 

 56 



