HICKLING DISTRICT 193 



RATTING AT A WATER-KENNEL, OR A NIGHT WITH A 

 DRUNKARD 



It was in the fifties ; the winter sun was sinking to rest 

 behind the low stretch of reed-covered swamps which formed 

 our horizon, flooding the heavens with a crimson glow and 

 beautifying Nature in a manner that would have tantalised 

 the landscape painter beyond comprehension. The surface of 

 the vast expanse of water which covered Hickling Broad was 

 as smooth as a sheet of plate glass, and undisturbed except 

 where broken by a rising fish or a dipping bird. 



We were reclining in the stern sheets of the ; she was 



a comfortable house-boat, although rough and ready in her 

 construction. Built of good oak timbers, clinched with copper 

 fastenings, she had weathered many a gale at sea, where she 

 had formerly done duty as a lifeboat. But a cabin had been 

 added, with other doubtful improvements, and she formed 

 the winter residence of a sporting Bohemian of eccentric and 

 intemperate habits. 



Poor Tom ! He has long since joined the great majority. 

 His was a short, sad existence, and all foresaw too plainly 

 how the end would be ; but he did good in a way, although 

 he would never admit it, and he was very annoyed when it 

 was brought home to him. 



He was one of those " who do good by stealth and blush 

 to find it fame." 



In Broadland we see many like Tom . They visit us 



periodically, as butterflies, here to-day, and gone to-morrow ; 

 they rarely last three seasons, and considering the pace they 

 go, it is wonderful they can hold out as long as they do. 



His fortune might have been anything from 15,000 to 

 30,000. The actual amount mattered little to him, he lived 

 on the capital, disregarding the interest. Everyone who was 

 poor and needy, or out of luck, was welcome to come ; they all 

 met with a kind reception, and they would not go away empty 

 handed. 



One of the last fads of his short life was shooting, and he 



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