DECEMBER IN SROADLAND. 133 



they easily support his weight. The process is simple, yet requires some judg- 

 ment. Holding a bunch in his ' dannocked ' (gloved) left hand, he makes a slightly 

 upward sweep with his sickle, cutting the reed-stems as near the surface of the 

 water as possible. An axiom of the Broadman says, l An inch o' reed below water's 

 wuth tew above it.' That from under water, when dry, becomes harder and more 

 durable than that which grew above. He lays them as cut athwart the boat until 

 they form a little stack, then 4 quants ' with a shoving pole to the staith, where 

 he ties them up in bundles some six feet in circumference, and sells them by the 

 fathom. When reeds were more in demand than now, a reed-bed formed a profit- 

 able adjunct to the owner's property and the fenman's earnings. Pains used to be 

 taken in propagating them; detatched pieces of a reed-bed were moored in likely 

 places, and a new growth speedily began. Now they encroach upon the Broads 

 all too fast, extending their area year by year. 



The bridge we stand on spans a narrow run of water, and with the roadway 

 trending on either side, separates these two particular Broads ; the runlet unites 

 them. Turning round we take a survey of the other. There is a sameness in the 

 outlook ; only a grey church-steeple breaks the distant line of trees, and a tiny 

 red flag marks the mooring-place of a trading wherry. A swampy rond, with a 

 narrow footpath insinuating itself into the labyrinth of alders, tempts us to follow 

 its windings. The bog-moss is growing rankly, all else we tread on is dead and 

 decaying. Water squeezes upwards at our every footstep, and brambles catch 

 our sleeves with their sturdy thorns. The swamp is not untenanted. A snipe, and 

 now another, take to zig-zag flight as we approach their hiding-places, and a long- 

 billed bird, which we recognise at once as a woodcock, springs from under our 

 very feet, flies wildly and in an indefinite manner overhead, and drops again as 

 suddenly as he appeared. 



Turning abruptly to follow a less-used pathway, we come suddenly upon a 

 sight which fills us with interest and with sadness. Depending from a low tree- 

 branch by pieces of twine are the numerous victims of a gamekeeper's vengeance. 

 Stoats and weasels form the greater number. We wonder not so much at this 

 magpie condemned to death with some degree of fairness, perhaps, for the mis- 

 chief he was believed guilty of that of egg-stealing but why this innocent 

 barn-owl ? We reckon up this gamekeeper as an ignorant, unread, and unthink- 

 ing fellow. Some of the stoats are mere skins and skeletons, for the blowfly was 

 on his rambles when they were slaughtered, and the shot-holes thickly perforating 

 their necks and shoulders are a guarantee of the accuracy of the keeper's aim. 

 Some siskins are dodging about on an alder-stem, but take to flight on the approach 



