OF A BLANK DAY 83 



sport in a bitterly resentful voice, he withdrew. 

 The spirit of a wish has never more signally been 

 fulfilled at the expense of its letter. Hope left 

 me by the water, admiring creation. Five o'clock 

 brought appetite and, appropriately, a little 

 public-house. I was half full of seed cake and 

 damson jam before I thought of my duck's egg. 

 But it would come in at breakfast. The charge 

 for tea was preposterously small. Well content, 

 I rejoined the river. 



An hour passed, a delicious hour in which the 

 sun, creeping unwillingly to bed after his riot 

 among the clouds, threw out longer and longer 

 shadows under the trees, flushed the green downs 

 with rose, performed miracles for me. For me 

 the birds sang loudly, praising the good weather. 

 The trout showed no interest in these things. I 

 gathered kingcups. While reaching for a particu- 

 larly splendid bloom which grew low by the 

 water's edge, I was staggered to perceive a move- 

 ment, a break in the surface among some rushes 

 some little way above me. Hope came fluttering 

 back. With the infinite precaution of a boy scout 

 engaged on his first practical demonstration of the 

 principles which he has imbibed from Major- 

 General Baden-Powell, I approached the site of 

 the unbelievable occurrence, and beheld, raised 

 from the water, as it were a bunch of feathers, 



