THE CHANGE 221 



dream of a child. The nightingale sings 

 no more when it is spring; he is gone like 

 the wheat and its silky wind-wave. Terry 

 that was the name of my friend came 

 to me one day and held out his hand, and 

 said shyly, * I say, shall we swear life- 

 friendship ? ' He had been reading some 

 romantic book. After that we went every- 

 where together. Ah, now you begin to 

 remember the round pond over by the 

 Seven Fields." 



" Terry and I would go and fish there 

 at five in the morning. Yes, well may 

 you remember those lovely summer morns, 

 the sun staining the air and charging its 

 loveliness with light and life. We made 

 our own rods of hazel wands, and floats 

 from gray goose-quills and corks. The 

 eagerness with which we put ground bait 

 down the night before in the hope of 

 snaring one of the monster carp that lurked 

 in that little pond ! I suppose really that 

 none were there at all, but all through 



