SMALL WATERS AND TYPICAL DAYS 59 



with my friend's boat when I arrived at the bottom of 

 the lawn about half-past eleven would have made a 

 passable study for a frozen-out gardener. The sun, 

 to be sure, was shining clearly out of a sky of Italian 

 blue, without, however, blunting the cutting edge of 

 the eager and nipping air, due not more to the frost than 

 to a shrewd north-east wind which blew straight down 

 the lake. There was a silence most impressive. It 

 would be agreeable to write, if not of blackbirds 

 and thrushes, at least about robins and their sweet 

 pleading little pipe in the bushes ; but as a matter of 

 fact, save that the breeze rustled amongst the leaves of 

 the shrubbery, the voice of Nature was hushed, and 

 the silence was accentuated by the ring of the wood- 

 man's axe and the occasional hoarse indication of a 

 passing train in the distance. 



There is no time under such circumstances, how- 

 ever, for sentimentalising. You get aboard your boat 

 with all speed, push out into the lake, and gain what 

 warmth you may in spinning. It must be very cold 

 indeed if the exertion of this form of sport does not 

 bring you to a glow of oblivion as to the elements. I 

 know of nothing that makes the blood circulate, 

 nor of any out-of-door exercise that exhilarates the 

 frame, more than spinning a piece of water under such 

 conditions. This 24th of December was in truth the 



