66 JULY IN BROADLAND. 



in three or four feet lengths of the more slender boughs which are useless for saw- 

 ing into boards. These lie piled upon the quay in a distorted stack; a couple of 

 guernsey-coated fellows are busily loading a barrow-cart from it, their destination 

 being a fish-curing house. That billet, in the autumn, will give out volumes of 

 dense smoke beneath thousands of North Sea herrings, turning with its pungent 

 qualities silvery fishes into delightful tit-bits for the breakfast table, and into 

 bags of gold for those who cure them. In its place the Topsy has now a generally 

 assorted cargo. 



Merrily clinks the winch as the enormous brown sail slowly expands itself, and 

 the gaff is run well up the great mast. 'Let her go ! ' shouts the skipper to his 

 mate, who lets her go, loosing her by a dexterous jerk of the rope, which lifts its 

 eye clear off the mooring-stump ; this is pulled aboard and stowed away. As soon 

 as we clear the surrounding buildings we catch the breeze, and away like a thing 

 of life the Topsy glides, cutting the water as a ploughshare slides through the 

 crumbling earth. It is blowing a fair wind to-day, and right quickly we pass the 

 objects on the river-banks. Sleek kine stare wonderingly at us from beside gnarly- 

 timbered stiles, here and there a marshman's cottage and its surrounding alders 

 looms into view, and then a drainage mill. 



' Tree-and-twenty miles, 'bor, oan't take us long tu du tu-day if the wind holds 

 good,' says the skipper. ' So 'tis Stalham yew're bound for; wal, that wor lucky, 

 as I happen tu be goin' theer tew. What a rummen yer painter friend is. I 

 never seed a feller rub on the colours same as he du, so quick tew; why, afore he ha' 

 run his brush over half a dozen times yew seem tu know the wery place as is comin'. 

 Here's a pictur as he done the t'other day an' gie me, there's his house-boat wi' the 

 chimley. Front on it is old Tyke Barber's yawl, with his eel-set aboard it. Agin 

 her bows is a gun-punt. In course that's me a-sitting in the boat. How natural 

 them reeds a-frontin' us look, doan't they ? Some are growing straight, others a 

 leanin', and them broken ones look as real as they wor. 'Bor, how I larfed one day 

 as he wor a sketchin' on a rond (Dutch rand). He'd jest finished his pictur', an' gone 

 aboard for suffin' leavin' it on the sticks. An owd cow as wor munchin' close agin 

 it walked up an' took a boss at it. She seed the grass an' sich like, and a likeness 

 of a small brown calf. What did she du, 'bor, but begin lickin' it, thinkin', no 

 doubt, as how that wor one. Yer friend cum out savage enuf an' shied a bucket 

 at her. Yow would a larfed I did tu see that old hussy hain up her tail an' dance 

 across the rond like as if she enjoyed the fun tu.' 



The wind meanwhile has been increasing. Our craft has all the sail she can 

 carry; our leeward plankway is under water. A sudden squall, a regular ' Roger,' 



