ught me to swim. We began our studies in the bath,
when I was still a baby, she leaning over the side and directing my
splashing limbs. We achieved the desired result some years later in
the French seas off Boulogne. She never could swim a stroke herself,
but was splendid in the book-work of the thing. Since those days she
had given me unlimited opportunities to acquire perfection. So now,
Radley and Doe, my masters, you should learn a thing or two!

The undressing race resulted in a dead-heat, but whereas Doe
contented himself with a humble jump into the stream, I contrived to
execute a racing dive. Glorious immersion! It was lovely, oh,
lovely! The embrace of the cool river seemed entrancing, and I
remained a fathom down, experiencing one continuous delight.
Unfortunately I was under water longer than my breath would hold
out, and came to the view of Radley and Doe, choking and spluttering
and splashing. Anxious to retrieve my reputation, for I was
detestably conceited about my art, I started off for a long, speedy
swim, displaying my best racing stroke. Back again, at an even
faster pace, I got entangled with Doe, who greeted me a little
jealously with: "Gracious! Where did you learn to swim like that?"
Radley's mouth was set, and he remained mercilessly silent. He
wasn't going to teach me conceit.

Soon we were clothed again, and back in the boat with untidy wet
hair and stinging eyes, but with the glow of health warming our
bodies.

Throughout the day we plied our craft over the Fal, lunching up
King Harry Reach, and taking tea not far from Truro. When we turned
the head of the _Lady Fal_ for home, the sun was sinking fast, and
Radley pulled his swiftest, as he wished to be at Graysroof before
dark. So I lay in the bows and wondered at the straightness of his
back, and Doe nestled in the stern and admired the width of his
chest.

We glided over the surface: and there were no sounds anywhere, save
the rushes kissing the reeds, the water lapping the sides of the
boat, the little fishes chattering beneath, and the rhythmic music
of Radley's graceful feathering, which sounded like the flutter of a
bird upon the wing.

To dwell upon this beautiful evening is to recover a little of its
serene exaltation. I like to recall it as one of those days about
which we ask ourselves why we did not value them more when we had
them. I speak of it here, because, in the soothing peace of the Fal
that twilight, the AEsthetic se