attached to this reed is dragging in the stream and 

 pulling it over, and swinging back to do it again 

 each time the reed lifts it free a perpetual see- 

 saw. 



You are glad to find the reason, because it looked 

 a little uncanny ; but the behaviour of that one reed 

 has stopped your dreaming and made you look about 

 more carefully. Then you find that, although the 

 reeds appear as still as the rocks, there is hardly a spot 

 where, if you watch for a few minutes, you will not 

 see something moving. A tiny field-mouse climbing 

 one reed will sway it over ; a river rat gnawing at the 

 roots will make it shiver and rustle ; little birds 

 hopping from one to another will puzzle you ; and 

 a lagavaan turning in his sunbath will make half a 

 dozen sway outwards. 



All feeling that it is a home of peace, a place to rest 

 and dream, leaves you ; you are wondering what goes 

 on down below the green and gold where you can see 

 nothing ; and when your eye catches a bigger, slower, 

 continuous movement in another place, and for twenty 

 yards from the bank to the stream you see the tops of 

 the reeds silently and gently parting and closing again 

 as something down below works its way along without 

 the faintest sound, the place seems too quiet, too 

 uncanny and mysterious, too silent, stealthy and 

 treacherous for you to sit still in comfort : you must 

 get up and do something. 



There is always good shooting along the rivers in 

 a country where water is scarce. Partridges, bush- 

 pheasants and stembuck were plentiful along the 

 banks and among the thorns, but the reeds themselves 

 101 



