AUGUST IN A 



surprise him ; he will ripple his pipe 

 when comparing notes with his fel- 

 lows ; ring out a sharp clear call when 

 he tells them he knows of a better feed- 

 ing ground, and run through quite an 

 octave in as many moods and as many 

 humours. It is difficult for me to 

 attempt to give the inflection of his 

 notes by a process of spelling, for no 

 two persons would give them the self- 

 same renderings. Spend your days 

 and nights with him, and you will learn 

 his language. There are other sounds 

 to be heard at intervals : the noctule 

 bat is still hunting above head, occa- 

 sionally expressing his delight to his 

 fellows at catching such a jolly great 

 beetle ! A whimbrel and a heron now 

 and again cry out impatiently, and 

 a gull, disturbed by some sharp biting 

 parasite, or by an unexpected and 

 accidental push from a wakening fel- 

 low, shrieks out, as some people do in 

 their slumbers. We notice, too, the 

 " suck " of the eel, the splash of a floun- 

 der in the drain as he dashes into the 

 shallow after a parcel of shrimps ; and 

 small crackling noises emanate from a 

 hundred clams as they squirt in sink- 

 ing themselves in their burrows in the 

 mud-flat. 



Let us now discuss our supper : then 

 we'll lower the lamp, roll up in our 

 blankets, and turn in for the night. 



BREYDON PUNT 179 



We take a last look round ere we close 

 the doors ; the thousand lights of a 

 still busy town twinkle in the distance, 

 and are reflected again in the nearer 

 waters ; the wind has died away 

 altogether, and but for an occasional 

 bird-cry, and the low of a bullock, 



silence profound reigns all around us. 

 * * * 



Last night we slept soundly. Our 

 horsehair cushions were a bit hard, 

 and the novelty kept you awake 

 awhile ; and, perhaps, my continual 

 commenting for a time interested you. 

 But to my last remark or two you 

 were oblivious : you had " gone " 

 and it remained for me to follow 

 your lead. Those who have " done " 

 Broadland know that sleep needs little 

 seeking. Two hours after sunrise we 

 hear the pattering of tiny feet on the 

 cabin roof : the " cheep, cheep it " of 

 a young pied wagtail informs us 

 who our early visitor is. A small 

 insect or two had no doubt come to 

 grief in the night in the moisture 

 settled on the white top : and these 

 had attracted the passing bird. The 

 meadow pipit sometimes visits us too. 

 A kingfisher announces his presence 

 on a stump hard by; he is on the 

 alert for a goby; or a stickleback, 

 which is quite as happy in the salts 

 as it is in the fresher ditches. But 



