78 GOLDEN DAYS 



hand upon my arm. We backed together 

 to the shelter of high reeds and watched, 

 while round the river-bend came a dilapi- 

 dated punt, poled by an ancient Charon. 

 In answer to my whispered query came 

 the low sibilant reply : C'est le vieux 

 meunier — le salaud ! We crouched, and 

 marked the miller of Kerval driving tall 

 wooden stakes into the sand along the 

 river-bed. The whole thing lasted but a 

 minute, then the punt turned and drifted 

 down between the ranks of whispering 

 reeds, while Jean Pierre hip-deep waded 

 through the current. In turn he reached 

 each quivering stakepole and heaved it 

 out on to the bank. So were all twelve 

 retrieved, each with its two-foot length of 

 string, its giant hook, its small suspended 

 stickleback. One by one the strings were 

 safely cut. The poles were broken. 

 Then did Jean Pierre retire to sit upon 

 the hillside and dry his nether garments 

 in the last of the evening sunlight. There 

 I soon joined him, sitting down in the 

 long grass to light a pipe. " If that old 

 scoundrel must practise his beastly tricks," 

 I said, " why doesn't he fix his poles 



