A STORM IN THE MARSHES 33 



clumps of rushes. Not far from my place of shelter 

 stand two herons, in a little splash sheltered by some 

 willow stumps and rushes ; looking very cheerless, 

 their heads drawn on to their shoulders ; they know 

 better than to trust to their wings in a storm like 

 this. 



With racing speed the homeward-bound fishing- 

 boats are making the creek, the water lashed to foam 

 by the wind, and a fierce high tide running up. 

 With one mighty clap of thunder which seems to 

 shake the whole marsh, and the roar and whistle of 

 wind, the storm passes over, and the evening sun 

 floods with a golden light both land and water. On 

 a molehill a meadow pipit steps and trills his little 

 thanks that the storm has gone by, and one thinks 

 involuntarily of 'the still small voice.' 



Leaving my shelter I made then for home, three 

 miles distant. One solitary figure was to be seen, 

 crossing the marsh in a side direction from me. 

 When I overtook it I found it was the friend who 

 had brought me the information about the fowl. He 

 had left his boat safely moored in a snug corner ot 

 the creek. 



' Did ye get shelter ? ' he asked, ' and have ye sin 

 the fowl ? ' 



' Yes, in the back creek.' 



D 



