"Bend me your back." They were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up and down the river.

Everywhere it was enclosed with islands.

Clay banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and piping.

There was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters.
"My master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "I have a shrew guess that John-a-Fenne is on the island.

He bears me a black grudge to all Sir Daniel's.