WHEN THE SUN GOES DOWN. 145 



they have done wheeling about, go to roost in the 

 reeds. 



Dark streaks move through the pure grey that 

 still keeps its tone against the glow below it : they 

 are strings, or lines, of fowl of some kind or other— 

 they are too far off to distinguish which — going out 

 to feed. 



The cattle, looking huge under this peculiar light, 

 are one by one sinking down for their night's rest, 

 looking like large mounds of various colours in the 

 lush swamp herbage. 



A line of fishing-boats are making for one of the 

 numerous creeks, to make fast for the night ; their 

 dark^ sails, patched and weather-beaten, take at 

 times the hues of velvet as they pass in and out of 

 the after-glow, for the sun is going down. 



