the far side of the river. A
short trolley line ran down a stone pier from beside the road to the
edge of the water, where a barge with a bright brown sail waited; the
smoke from a clinker fire built in a pierced bucket swept fitfully about
the pier; grimy men loaded a car on the trolley line. Over the grey-blue
water hundreds of house-martins dipped and darted and chattered; my
umbrella blew inside out, a few scared birds near me tossed up into the
sky and fell down again, joining the hundreds circling and curtseying in
the wind and the rain.

The road from Molesey runs west to Walton-on-Thames, where you strike
the river high enough to find it running through something like real
country. Walton has an interesting old manor house and a Norman church a
good deal spoiled by restorers. In the vestry, preserved in a cabinet
made out of an old beam from the belfry, is a relic of days when women
talked too much--a scold's or gossip's bridle. It is a sort of cage
shaped to fit the head and made of steel, which time has rusted and
blackened. A kind of bit is arranged to go into the scold's mouth and
hold her tongue, and according to those who have been voluntarily
bridled--nobody can remember a scold in Walton--it answers its purpose
admirably. When the bit is in and the bridle properly padlocked the
most vixenish can only utter inarticulate murmurs.

[Illustration: _Walton Church._]

Among some curious old brasses in the church is one which commemorates,
"John Selwyn 'gent,' Keeper of her Matis Parke of Oteland vnder ye right
honorable Charles Howward Lord Admyrall of England his good Lord and
Mr." He died on March 22, 1587, and his brass illustrates a remarkable
incident. John Selwyn, dressed in a most workmanlike costume like a
Scots gillie with a ruff, is shown riding on the back of a stag, into
whose throat he is plunging a great hunting-knife. Two stories explain
the picture. One, told in the _Antiquarian Repertory_, is that Selwyn,
"in the heat of the chase, suddenly leaped from his horse upon the back
of the stag (both running at that time with their utmost speed), and not
only kept his seat gracefully in spite of every effort of the affrighted
beast, but, drawing his sword, with it guided him toward the Queen, and
coming near her presence, plunged it in his throat, so that the animal
fell dead at her feet." Another version told locally is that the stag
was charging Queen Elizabeth when the keeper rode up, leapt on i