OXFORD: THE UPPER RIVER 197 



.n order. And just so, when the cottagers open 

 their back garden gates to feed the geese in the 

 evening, the news spreads as if by magic, each little 

 party hurrying up to its supper; those nearer run- 

 ning with outstretched wings, those down in the 

 meadow — not to be forestalled — rising clear of the 

 ground and flying right away to the top. They 

 seldom get up higher than four feet, partly because 

 they have no time to waste upon trajectories, and 

 partly so that if their wings should give out they will 

 not have far to fall. 



Here the shallow suddenly deepens, and opposite 

 these willows is the hole known as Black Jack. Ask 

 a waterman about Black Jack, and he instantly 

 becomes mysterious ; he predicts that " we shall 

 never know all that there is down there," and 

 " reckons there are some things down there it's a good 

 thing we can't see. Don't you. Bill?" And Bill 

 confirms the suspicion. Tradition says that Black 

 Jack is fathomless, and so it is — by sculls and 

 boat-hooks. 



The sandpipers are not here to-day, they are away 

 nesting by the Gloucester streams; very soon they 

 will be back with their young, and hunting for 

 shrimps along low-water mark. As you approach 



■^^*^S ^-^UAje^ry , 





