er beer," which
we drink in the sunny doorway. I shall always remember the flavor of
the stuff, and the smell, and the wonder and chill of the ice house.

I vaguely remember something about a convent out in that direction,
but I was tired and sleepy after my long walk, and glad to be
returning home. I hope they carried me a bit of the way, for I was
very tired. There were stars out before we reached home, and the men
stopped in the middle of the street to bless the new moon.

It is pleasant to recall how we went bathing in the Polota. On Friday
afternoons in summer, when the week's work was done, and the houses of
the good housewives stood shining with cleanliness, ready for the
Sabbath, parties of women and girls went chattering and laughing down
to the river bank. There was a particular spot which belonged to the
women. I do not know where the men bathed, but our part of the river
was just above Bonderoff's gristmill. I can see the green bank sloping
to the water, and the still water sliding down to the sudden swirl and
spray of the mill race.

The woods on the bank screened the bathers. Bathing costumes were
simply absent, which caused the mermaids no embarrassment, for they
were accustomed to see each other naked in the public hot baths. They
had little fear of intrusion, for the spot was sacred to them. They
splashed about and laughed and played tricks, with streaming hair and
free gestures. I do not know when I saw the girls play as they did in
the water. It was a pretty picture, but the bathers would have been
shocked beyond your understanding if you had suggested that naked
women might be put into a picture. If it ever happened, as it happened
at least once for me to remember, that their privacy was outraged, the
bathers were thrown into a panic as if their very lives were
threatened. Screaming, they huddled together, low in the water, some
hiding their eyes in their hands, with the instinct of the ostrich.
Some ran for their clothes on the bank, and stood shrinking behind
some inadequate rag. The more spirited of the naiads threw pebbles at
the cowardly intruders, who, safe behind the leafy cover that was
meant to shield modesty, threw jeers and mockery in return. But the
Gentile boys ran away soon, or ran away punished. A chemise and a
petticoat turn a frightened woman into an Amazon in such
circumstances; and woe to the impudent wretch who lingered after the
avengers plunged into the thicket. Slaps and cuf