18 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
The daylight dies fast, and the edges of the 
forest grow dim against the opal sky. The 
river holds the gleam longest, till slowly the 
moon comes up, and rests her bare silver feet for 
a moment on the forest edge, before she slips 
into the dark pool of the sky. The hum of 
insect life has died down with the day, and 
from the water’s edge comes the chirring of 
innumerable frogs. A fish jumps in the dark¬ 
ness, and startles the quiet of the night. 
Silently the white mists trail across the 
water, and wrap the tiny launch in shroud after 
shroud. They lay a deadening hand, too, upon 
the river, and the rush of the water becomes 
flattened in tone. A rustle on the bank, caused 
by some small wandering animal, breaks the 
silence sharply for a moment; but it closes 
down again. For a time an orange ray of light 
shows from the launch, then that too is extin¬ 
guished. Gently the boat swings to the current, 
felt even in the sheltered bay. 
The quiet hours of the night go by : till, with 
a little chill wind, the dawn begins. 
There is a sigh as it reaches the tall reeds 
that fringe the monte, and a drowsy bird calls 
in the distance. Little by little, the line of 
forest begins to detach itself from the blur of 
grey, a faint pulse of colour steals into the sky. 
It deepens : and a pale shaft of sunlight catches 
the top of a distant height. Still the river is 
in shadow, but already the smoking mists are 
