54 By Leafy Ways. 



packed away like a Chinese puzzle ; in whose cabin 

 it is impossible to stand upright ; on whose hard and 

 narrow bunks three kindred spirits may sleep the sleep 

 of the weary and dream of Tullamore a craft which 

 can go anywhere and do anything. 



How refreshing is the cool air of morning, as you 

 crawl on deck when the east begins to brighten ! The 

 mist is still lying on the low lands on either side, and 

 all along the river rises the soft grey vapour. 



Yonder stands a heron, still, silent, and watchful, 

 with an eye to fish for breakfast. Startled by the 

 sudden glimmer of a red cap, he raises his long neck 

 a moment, then draws it in, spreads his broad grey 

 wings, and leisurely drifts farther on round the bend 

 of the river. 



A party of moorhens out in mid-stream take wing 

 and fly across to the shelter of the reeds, trailing 

 their feet behind them in lines of broken silver on the 

 glassy surface. 



But now the galley-fire is lit. After a time a 

 pleasant fragrance of coffee begins to pervade the 

 yacht. 



On the swing table in the little cabin are arranged 

 the mob of odd cups and plates that do duty for a 

 breakfast service. 



And then the start is made. Perhaps there is a 

 good wind two reefs in the mainsail even, a steady 

 man at the tiller, and a ready hand on the mainsheet. 



The next day may be calm. There is no breath 



