i 4 2 WILD LIFE ON A NORFOLK ESTUARY 



the empurpled horizon. The reeds nodded and rustled their 

 speary leaves at us as our boat brushed past them, gliding up 

 the sluice to the Moorhens^ stern to take up our summer 

 night's lodging. A reed-warbler was singing his loudest ditty 

 in the reed-clump ; but his song scarcely rose above the 

 sound of their playful rustling. With the going down of the 

 sun the breeze, too, died away ; and then the night-prowlers 

 and the night-flyers took the places vacated by those that 

 love the day. It seemed almost like sacrilege the harsh 



THE SERENADERS. REED-WARBLERS 



noises of hewing wood for the cabin fire, and the preparations 

 for a pot of tea. But while the kettle is boiling we sit in the 

 stern-sheets of the Moorhen, and look out into the gloaming. 

 A dark object some living creature creeps cautiously 

 out of the reeds, and runs along the muddy margin. There 

 is just sufficient light in the after-glow to show its form 

 distinctly enough ; any one " with half an eye " might have 

 known it at once for a water-vole only the unobservant 



1 In the go's the Moorhen was moored in the "mill-deck" at Mautby, 

 when Banham lived at the Marsh Farm. The "notes" comprising this sketch 

 were made at the time, and will help to convey an idea of the loneliness and 

 isolation of Breydon. 



