52 



MAT IN BROADLAND. 



dashes off the end of an oar which has been lying akimbo, and with a startled 

 scream is lost in a bend in the reed-bed. Some tiny scales sparkle upon the 

 blade, which we examine more closely. The kingfisher, unnoticed by us and 

 accustomed, perhaps, to the eel-babber's voice, had evidently been fishing from our 

 oar-blade: here is certainly proof positive that he has had a little fish for dinner. 

 Some coots that have waxed bold enough to venture out in the open, disappear as 



AN EEL-CATCHER'S HUT. 



if by magic, and a couple of red- billed moorhens dash off with more precipitancy 

 than caution, trailing their feet in the water as they widen the distance between 

 us. Yonder flies a heron. Let us row for the far side of the Broad. But for the 

 sounds of bird-life, the quietude would become oppressive, such strange music is 

 borne on the wings of the wind harsh wild cries, jarring notes, and the sweeter 

 sounds of bird-song. It is the season of love. Each little songster is vying with 

 its fellows in making cheerful harmony. Even the rooks in the tall trees yonder 



