CHAPTER XV 



HORNING TO THE SOURCE OF THE BURE 



SEVERAL days may be spent at Horning Ferry in sweet hours 

 of idleness or fishing and flighting with varying success. The 

 longer the stay, the more the locality seems to attract, and it 

 is with feelings much akin to regret that at last the sail is 

 hoisted and the old thatched roofs and rustling willows are 

 left behind. 



For half a mile above the ferry the river extends in a 

 straight reach to Horning village. This reach is celebrated for 

 its good fishing swims. 



Horning is an old-fashioned, out-of- the- world spot, four 

 miles from the nearest railway station, which in these days of 

 ubiquitous trippers may be regarded as a pleasing attraction. 

 As the quay, which runs the whole length of the village, is 

 neared crowds of ragged urchins await the coming in keen 

 expectancy, and commence chanting a strain, the words of 

 which run somewhat as follows : 



Ho ! John Barley Corn, 



Ho ! John Barley Corn, 



All day long I raise my song- to 



John Barley Corn. 



It is a time-honoured custom to throw pence to the 

 children when passing. 



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