Tilda watched him, marvelling at his strange aptitude,
and once, catching her eye, he nodded; but still, as he mastered the
knack, and the stroke of the paddle became more and more mechanical, his
attention disengaged itself from the moment--from the voice of Mr.
Jessup astern, the girl's intent gaze, the swirl about the blade, the
scent and pageant of the green banks on either hand--and pressed forward
to follow each far curve of the stream, each bend as it slowly unfolded.
Bend upon bend--they might fold it a hundred deep; but somewhere ahead
and beyond their folding lay the Island.
In this wise they passed under a grassy hillside set with trimmed elms,
and came to Grange Mill and another portage; and below Grange to
Bidford, where there is a bridge of many arches carrying the old Roman
road called Icknield Street; and from the bridge and grey little town
they struck into a long reach that ran straight into the dazzle of the
sun--through flat meadows at first, and then, with a turn, under the
steep of Marcleeve Hill, that here borders Avon to the south for miles.
Here begin the spurs of the Cotswolds--scars of green and red marle
dotted with old thorn trees or draped with ash and maple, or smothered
with trails of the Traveller's Joy.
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