JULY IN BROADLAND. 



67 



for which our men are prepared, strikes us; and heavy rain drops down from an 

 overcast sky. Some yachtsmen ahead are not so fortunate, they have run aground. 

 They hail us as we pass them, but we are going too rapidly to be able to give them 

 a helping hand. Now a bridge rises up ahead of us, with a single low arch. 



4 Stand by the winch, Jem. Now lower, my hearty, and let her go.' Down 

 rattles the great tanned wing, the parrel is taken off, and the jaws of the gaff 

 moved aside. Jem now casts off the fall of the forestay tackle from the cleat on 

 the block. Balanced so well that a child could sway it in its tabernacle, the great 



A WATERSIDE RENDEZVOUS. 



mast sinks slowly down as the ton-and-a-quarter of lead on its heel rises into view. 

 The skipper's hand is on the tiller, and with his keen blue eye he judges to an 

 inch his bearings. Straight through the arch like an arrow the good vessel shoots, 

 with barely a foot to spare above head. So nicely, too, has the time been judged 

 that our mast has but reached its level when our bows have entered the archway. 

 No sooner is our helm clear than the mast is raised and the sail is up, and we are 

 on again as fast as ever; indeed, we've scarcely lost way at all. 



Pass we eel-babbers on their way to some favourite babbing-ground for the 

 night's fishing; on past mills and houses, between long thin beds of reeds and 



