48 MA Y IN SROADLAND. 



We have left the many-gabled town behind us. The lower reaches of the 

 river are flat and uninteresting, the dull level beyond the river banks being 

 relieved here and there only by some grim old pump mill, some marshman's low- 

 built homestead, or a stile of gnarly timbers, against which sleek cattle rub their 

 sides and chew the cud. The marshes are alive with cattle. Now we pass a deeply- 

 laden wherry, with the skipper, quant at shoulder, shoving her round to catch the 

 breeze, whilst the mate, who mayhap is the good man's ' missus,' is leaning against 

 the tiller. 



On we glide past riverside villages, with their windmills and ferries and clumps 

 of trees the monotonously dull, flat scenery which, they tell us, savours so much 

 of that which is Dutch. From Stokesby onward the aspect changes for the better, 

 and pretty little nooks and corners, that many an artist has reproduced on canvas, 

 loom into view. Shooting through Acle bridge with lowered mast, we hoist sail 

 again, and still keep bowling along up the Bure until we reach Thurne mouth, 

 then on again up this tributary, past a picturesque half-barn, half-farmhouse, upon 

 which a clump of trees cast their shadows, and then past Womack Dyke, until we 

 reach Potter Heigham, where we moor. Here, after a jolly luncheon at the famous 

 hostelry which overlooks the river, we bid adieu to our yachting friends, who are 

 bent on making again for the Bare and sailing still further northwards. 

 o o e- e- o c- c- o 



Gliding along over the clear shallow waters, margined by the yet short young 

 reeds of the year, above which the leafless, tottering stems of an older growth are 

 drooping and fast going to decay, we make for the open Broad. Splashing noises 

 in amongst them tell us that a shoal of bright-finned rudd are not far away from 

 us. We are not provided with tackle or we should not be able to resist the temp- 

 tation to throw them a baited hook. We fling in a few bread-crumbs, however, and 

 after them dash the bold, handsome finners. Kudd love these quiet waters, undis- 

 turbed as they are by rapid tides, where the tall reeds nod above sheltered pools. 

 They are sociable fellows with their species. Mayhap they are seeking a spawning- 

 ground, for they shed their ova in the early spring-time. A splash hard by, as of 

 a huge clog flinging himself into the water, is followed by a speedy dispersal of the 

 shoal. Look ! didn't you see that long-jawed head of a pike rise above the surface, 

 holding between his shark-like teeth one of the luckless fishes ? With a swirl of 

 his big forked tail, he is far below and is off to his snug lair, known only to him- 

 self, to devour his victim at his leisure. 



Yonder Noah's-ark-like structure, moored beside the reeded * rond,' is the hut 

 of an eel-catcher. In the stern-sheets, just outside his cabin-door, sits the occu- 



