peare's country into motion;
but on the river I could put myself in motion, which amounts to the same
thing. With the cinematograph, I grant you, it's mostly the scene
that's that in motion while _you_ sit still; but there's also a dodge by
which _you're_ in the railway car and flying past the scenery."

Tilda nodded.

"Maggs 'ad 'old of that trick too. 'E called it _A Trip on the Over'ead
Railway, New York._"

"Right; and now you see. I allowed that by steering down Avon and
keeping my eyes half closed, by the time I reached Tewkesbury I'd have
Shakespeare's environment all boiled down and concentrated; and at
Tewkesbury I 'd stop and slap in the general impression while it was
fresh. But just here I ran my head full-butt against another principle
of mine, which is _plein air_."

"Wot's that?"

"Why, that a landscape should be painted where it stands, and not in the
studio."

"You couldn' very well paint with one 'and an' paddle with the other,"
she began; but added in a moment, "Why there's Arthur Miles, o' course!
doin', as ush'al, while the others are talkin'. That child brings luck
w'erever 'e goes."

"You think that I could change places and trust him to steer."

"Think? Why for the las' ten minutes 'e _'as_ been steerin'?"

So below Cleeve they changed places, Mr. Jessup settling himself
amidships with his apparatus for sketching, while Arthur Miles was
promoted--if the word may be allowed--to the seat astern. For a while
he took his new responsibility gravely, with pursed lips and eyes intent
on every stroke of the paddle, watching, experimenting, as a turn of the
wrist more or less righted or deflected the steering. But in a few
minutes he had gained confidence, and again his gaze removed itself from
the swirl around the blade and began to dwell on the reaches ahead.

They were entering the rich vale of Evesham. On their left the slopes
of Marcleeve Hill declined gradually to the open plain; on their right,
behind a long fringe of willows, stretched meadow after meadow, all
green and flat as billiard-tables. They were passing down through the
scene of a famous battle. But the children had never heard of Evesham
fight; and Mr. Jessup had mislaid his guide-book. He sat with
half-closed eyes, now and again dipping his brush over the gunwale, and
anon, for a half-minute or so, flinging broad splashes of water-colour
upon his sketching-pad.

They were nearing the ferry at Harvington, and a