RANDOM MEMORIES 81 



was he ever conscious of a small dark 

 cloud that, like some hovering hawk, 

 poised in the west before his open window. 

 Then came a time when all the land grew 

 still. The cloud loomed nearer till it 

 darkened the whole earth, while the 

 waves of the sea broke fiercely against 

 the dyke, bursting in clouds of spray. 

 The waves rose higher and higher, till 

 with a roar the dyke crumbled, and the 

 sea entered quickly to surround his 

 house. But he escaped it, flying inland ; 

 only at the pool of Kerval did it catch 

 him, where he was hurled screaming into 

 murky depths. . . . Tlie peasants say 

 that during the spring- tides a dead white 

 face still faintly gleams beneath the 

 waters of Kerval. They all agree, more- 

 over, that the trout of this region are 

 white-fleshed, tasteless and insipid. On 

 dit fa, mais ..." Jean Pierre shrugged, 

 smiling back at me. He always concludes 

 his most preposterous tales with this 

 remark. As that consoling mais was 

 drawled, he slipped the last of those 

 twelve sticklebacks into one horny palm 

 and rose apologetically, murmuring some- 



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