BY THE RIVER. 263 



it up and lit a cigarette. I wish I could come 

 across old Sam Freeman. Old Sam Freeman 

 is a professor of the gentle craft who haunts 

 these parts. 



I watch the stream in a lazy, idle mood. 

 Suddenly there comes a sound from out the 

 dusk of a brake at the opposite bank the 

 sound of a whistle, to which the pleasantest 

 trill of a flageolet is meaningless. 



This is the overture to the approach of the 

 accomplished Sam Freeman, who can whistle, 

 with his mouth by the river, tunes sweeter than 

 Pan blew from his reed. 



The whistle eeases, and I know that Sam is 

 putting up a cast a work of so important a 

 nature that it must not be interrupted by 

 music. 



Presently the whistle which has an odd 

 charm in it, as though it were an incantation- 

 is heard again, and I can see the point of a rod 

 moving. I am better acquainted with Sam's 

 peculiarities than to startle him by any notice 

 at this moment. 



With what a grace and lightness the tiny 

 line drops behind that bunch of weeds! 



