128 1(A{MBLES OF A <DO{MINie 



serve well enough to screen a crew of two from the 

 inquisitive gaze of the world, or even as a shelter in a 

 moderate shower, are of no service now. Alas, now, 

 for the gay plumage of the morning ! This is a deluge 

 against which no wrap or mackintosh is proof, and it is 

 in but sorry plight that the fair argonauts are helped 

 ashore. Some of them contemplate ruefully the havoc 

 that the rain has wrought upon their finery. The sun- 

 shine has faded from their lips, the laughter from their 

 eyes ; but they take their ill-fortune bravely for the 

 most part, making as light of their drenched garments 

 as the oarsmen who are handing them ashore. The 

 crowd of draggled pleasure-seekers vanishes hastily into 

 the recesses of the inn, to reappear later in strange habi- 

 liments borrowed from the landlord or his daughters. 



The resources of a riverside hostel, in the rain, are 

 apt to be limited. Even the consolation of a pipe is 

 denied. The very smoking-room is needed for the 

 entertainment of unexpected guests who to-day have 

 been washed into the inn, and you and your comrades 

 are driven finally to make a bolt into the summer-house. 

 Even here a dejected couple of campers out, who have 

 abandoned in despair their shelterless tent, are preparing 

 to make a night of it, and there is nothing for it but 

 another bolt for bed. 



In the morning the world wears quite another face. 

 From the look of things you would say there had been 

 no rain for weeks. The sedge-warbler in the reeds 

 under the bridge is singing as if no rain had ever come 

 to hush his tireless pine. The boat, indeed, shows signs 



