JULY IN 13ROADLAND. 



60 



peers from behind the riven clouds whose edges she has been tinging with silver. 

 A slight breeze rustles soothingly through the reeds and sedges, fanning our cheeks 

 with its cool breath as it passes by us. 



STAUJAM DYKE. 



We have been watching many of these changes from the stern-sheets of our 

 artist-friend's house-boat. The dinghy is moored astern of us. Meanwhile he has 

 been lighting a fire and preparing a jolly little supper to complete the evening's 

 enjoyment. The smell of provender and the refreshing aroma of tea filters out into 

 the quiet air and rouses us from our reverie, for whilst he has been busy we have 



