d
bleeding, and people's tongues when they put 'em out."

"Here, Macey and he had better row now," cried Distin, suddenly. "Let's
have a rest, Gilmore."

The exchange of position was soon made, and Macey said, as he rolled up
his sleeves over his thin arms, which were in peculiar contrast to his
round plump face:--

"Now then: let's show old pepper-pot what rowing is."

"No: pull steadily, and don't show off," said Vane quietly. "We want to
look at the things on the banks."

"Oh, all right," cried Macey resignedly; and the sculls dipped together
in a quiet, steady, splashless pull, the two lads feathering well, and,
with scarcely any exertion, sending the boat along at a fair pace, while
Vane, with a naturalist's eye, noted the different plants on the banks,
the birds building in the water-growth--reed sparrows, and bearded tits,
and pointing out the moor-hens, coots, and an occasional duck.

All at once, as they cut into a patch of the great dark flat leaves of
the yellow water-lily, there was a tremendous swirl in the river just
beyond the bows of the boat--one which sent the leaves heaving and
falling for some distance ahead.

"Come now, that was a pike," cried Macey, as he looked at Distin lolling
back nonchalantly, with his eyes half-closed.

"Yes; that was a pike, and a big one too," said Vane. "Let's see,
opposite those three pollard willows in the big horseshoe bend. We'll
come and have a try for him, Aleck, one of these days."

It was a pleasant row, Macey and Vane keeping the oars for a couple of
hours, right on, past another mill, and among the stumps which showed
where the old bridge and the side-road once spanned the deeps--a bridge
which had gradually decayed away and had never been replaced, as the
traffic was so small and there was a good shallow ford a quarter of a
mile farther on.

The country was beautifully picturesque up here, and the latter part of
their row was by a lovely grove of beeches which grew on a chalk ridge--
almost a cliff--at whose foot the clear river ran babbling along.

Here, all of a sudden, Macey threw up the blade of his oar, and at a
pull or two from Vane, the boat's keel grated on the pebbly sand.

"What's that for?" cried Gilmore, who had been half asleep as he sat
right back in the stern, with his hands holding the sides.

"Time to go back," said Macey. "Want my corn."

"He means his thistle," said Distin, rousing himself to utter a
sarcastic remark.