262 THE CURVED MEADOW. 



the current. It was rather an ignominious 

 ending to so good an evening's sport, but it 

 made me reel up quickly and start away to the 

 fence and upper field. 



It was dark and eerie under the trees, and 

 half way along something rushed out of the 

 fern close under my feet. What it was I do 

 not know, but it sounded the size of a fox. 



Down the steep path at last, probing into 

 ferny vacancy at each step with the landing net 

 handle even gratefully clutching brambles; 

 thankful for nailed boots, and for not sliding 

 through the brushwood into the river below; 

 thankful for the guiding bits of paper which 

 showed up nobly, I reached the bottom in a 

 sitting position, with a sense of prickly relief, 

 and hurried on the last half mile towards the 

 ladder stile where the narrow cart road 

 terminates. 



The moon was getting up, and the white cob 

 walls of the few thatched cottages stood out 

 coldly in its half light, while the cypresses 

 round the church were correspondingly black in 

 the shadow. 



From that point I had, on two previous 

 occasions, walked the five or more miles home, 

 a rather severe tramp after an unsuccessful day; 

 but this time a trap had been ordered at the 

 church for a quarter past ten. It was now 

 past that; the road was painfully silent, and the 

 prospect of the walk not alluring. A sound of 

 hoofs in the far distance : later on, a glimpse 

 of two friendly lights soon dispelled all mis- 



