72 SPRING-TIDE. 



J. I confess they are. I am almost 

 moved- to indulge in a rhapsody myself. 



S. You smile at this doting of an old 

 man on the scenes of his youth. 



J. Nay, you wrong me. I smiled, but 

 not in derision. Dull indeed must he be 

 who could look unmoved on such a scene 

 as this. Yonder is the river, its pale 

 stream brightening into gold. I see the 

 moor-hen moving upon it unconscious of 

 our approach. Shall we have a fine day ? 



S. A good day for the angler, but not 

 for a pic-nic. I think there will be rain: 

 the sun shines out too brightly at its 

 rising, and, if I mistake not, those clouds 

 rising in the south will bring wet with 

 them. There was rain last night, as you 

 will see by the state of this field we are 

 now entering. It is very slippery on this 

 path. What was that story you were 

 telling me about young Joe Chivers, Si- 

 mon ? 



