BREYDON IN LEISURELY AUTUMN 155 



The Banhams have dwelt in marshland for generations. 

 The blood of the Vikings courses through their veins, 

 and they still retain the fair hair and bright blue eyes of 

 their race. And what is more, for ages these Banhams 

 have fought flood and tide, and kept the banks and dykes 

 in repair, while Jim Banham is to-day the best mound- 

 builder in East Anglia. The wall running along behind the 

 Moorhen, and away to Dan Banham's mill out to the 

 west'ard, was "hained" and strengthened three or four 

 years ago. It will need little repairing in his lifetime. 



" Good night, Fattson ! " is Banham's last remark as he 

 overtops the walls. 



" Good night, Banham ! " comes from the houseboat like 

 an echo. . . . 



Night has quietly put the day to rest, and the Queen 

 of Night, high over the town, is reflected in a silvery ripple 

 on the flowing waters. The lights of Yarmouth twinkle 

 brightly against the dark and undefinable background ; away 

 on our right the dark tide, lapping the rond, distinctly out- 

 lines it with glowing phosphorescence ; there is a ripple of it 

 yonder, where the water curls round a stranded swill, and 

 Breydon shimmers with weird, mysterious lights. The sky 

 is cloudless, but we can feel the gentle breeze springing up 

 from the west. 



Nature is seldom really quiet. Even to-night the gulls 

 are holding a strange concert on the distant " lumps," and 

 odd laughing cries ring out from the common babble. Red- 

 shanks are piping on the marshes, and the wail of a passing 

 flock of lapwings bespeaks a changing for fresh feeding 

 grounds. Now and again one hears the deep whistle of the 

 curlew and the harsh croak of the heron. 



Even in the waters below life is yet restless ; one hears the 

 jump of a mullet, the strange plunging " sluss " of shrimp- 

 hunting eels in the shallows, and the "slap" of a flounder 

 following its prey to the surface. . , . 



Little by little these sounds die away, while the lights of 

 Yarmouth go out one by one. The cabin roof is beginning 

 to run with dew. Time to put that pipe away ! Let's turn 

 in, lower the lamp, and roll up in our blankets until morning. 

 "Good night l n 



