330 A MEDLEY OF SPOET 



morning would have gladdened the heart of the painter 

 or poet. 



The low-lying country bordering the sands on the 

 north was very Dutch-like in appearance, and consisted 

 of many thousands of acres of perfectly flat marshes, 

 which were encompassed by high sea-walls and inter- 

 sected by deep and wide dykes and fleets. A clump of 

 stunted elms, a red-tiled homestead, or a reed-thatched 

 barn, were the only objects to break the wearying mono- 

 tony of the scene. 



The old bailiff and his two stalwart sons had watched 



for the coming of H and myself from the headland 



of the island since dawn ; for those worthy sons of the 

 marshes " dearly loike a bit o' shootin', and no mistake." 



" Good - morning, Togood ! I hope breakfast is 

 ready, for we are simply famished after our long drive." 



" Ay, ay, Maister H ; t' owd 'ooman be a -frying 



pork and eggs holy wonderful. Deary me ! ye will find 

 a masterful lot of wild duckin the fleets," wheezed out the 

 weather-beaten, asthmatical old marshman, as he walked 



the mare round to the stable, while H and myself 



repaired to the old-world, oaken- wainscotted kitchen to 

 enjoy the humble, but substantial, breakfast which the 

 goodwife had provided for us. 



Having devoured an incredible number of thick 

 rashers of fried salt pork, poached eggs, and slices of 

 delicious home-made bread and butter, to say nothing of 

 sundry mugs of tea, a goodly number of cartridges, 

 loaded with a well-known " nitro " and Nos. 6 and 8 shot, 



