'Then the marshes. You know: skeins of geese against an evening sky. Great cloudscapes and shivering grasses. Then the port: Mere Harbour. Almost Dutch. A complete contrast to the county at its back. A town full of lovely individual building, and a harbour full of fishing and coastwise traffic. Gulls, and reflections, and gables. Searle, it's perfect!

'When do we start?

'Well, first, how do we do it?

'Will this thing take a boat?

'Only a punt. Or a skiff where it widens below the bridge.

'A punt, Searle said doubtfully. 'That's one of those flat duck-shooting things.

'Approximately.

'That doesn't sound very handy. It had better be canoes.

'Canoes!

'Yes. Can you manage one?

'I've paddled one round an ornamental pond when I was a child. That's all.

'Oh, well, at least you've got the hang of it. You'll soon remember the drill. How far up could we start, with canoes? Man, it's a wonderful idea. It even gives us our title. "Canoes on the Rushmere." A title with a nice swing to it. Like "Drums Along the Mohawk." Or "Oil for the Lamps of China".

'We shall have to tramp the first bit of it. The sheep-country bit. Down to about Otley. I expect the stream will take a canoe at Otley. Though, God help me, I don't anticipate being much at home in a canoe. We can carry a small pack from the source of the river-it's a spring in the middle of a field, I've always understood-down to Otley or Capel, and from there to the sea we canoe. "Canoes on the Rushmere". Yes, it sounds all right. When I go up to town tomorrow I'll go and see Cormac Ross and put the proposition to him and see what he is moved to offer. If he doesn't like it, I have half a dozen more who will jump at it. But Ross is in Lavinia's pocket, so we might as well make use of him if he will play.

'Of course he will, Searle said. 'You're practically royalty in this country, aren't you!

If there was any feeling in the gibe it was not apparent.

'I should really offer it to Debham's, Walter said.