MEMORIES 87 



on Test or Itchen owes all its prowess to 'prentice- 

 days in this so small a school. 



There upon the shallow stands a heron waiting till 

 an eel shall move in the mud. Gaunt and still he 

 stands — a grim magician brooding some new spell. 



But now a single bubble rising is followed by a 

 tiny cloud of mud. Slight as is the symptom, it is 

 all the watcher needs. A half-step, a lightning 

 stroke, and that sharp beak has transfixed an eel 

 But even then, the bird, warned by some unwonted 

 sight or sound, rises into the air on slow and 

 labouring wing, the eel writhing in fruitless efforts 

 to escape. 



Behind the island stands an old man telling 

 sheep. He wears the smockfrock and moleskin 

 breeches of his day. It is old John Roffey, the 

 hero of many a ploughing-match in earlier years. 

 A bit too stiff to manage ploughing now, he looks 

 as hard and hale as an old oak. 



" I was a-wondering whatever that 'ere bird had 

 got in his mouth," says the old man ; "I could see 

 as there was somethin' a-twizzlin'." 



" Why, John, what good eyes you have got ! 

 That is because they are blue eyes. They are always > 

 the best. All the best rifle-shots have blue eyes." 



