XXVI 



A VOYAGE IN THE DARK 



A FEW days ago, a friend who is kind 

 and patient enough to encumber himself 

 with the care of a blind man and a boy 

 took me and my twelve-year-old a-fishing. 

 It was with a fresh realization of my de- 

 privation that I passed along the watery 

 way once as familiar as the dooryard path, 

 but now shrouded for me in a gloom 

 more impenetrable than the blackness of 

 the darkest night. I could only guess at 

 the bends and reaches as the south wind 

 blew on one cheek or the other, or on my 

 back, only knowing where the channel 

 draws near the shore upon which the In- 

 dians encamped in the old days by the 

 flutter of leaves overbearing the rustle of 

 rushes. By the chuckle of ripples under 

 the bow, I guessed when we were in mid- 

 channel ; by the entangled splash of an 

 oar, when we approached the reedy bor- 

 der where the water-lilies rode at an- 

 ii8 



