"_Batelier_, indeed!" laughed he, as with two or three powerful strokes
he carried us right into the middle, of the stream. "Trust an Oxford man
for employing any arms but his own, when a pair of sculls are in
question!"

* * * * *

CHAPTER VIII.

THE ISLAND IN THE RIVER.

It was just eight o'clock when we started, with the twilight coming on.
Our course lay up the river, with a strong current setting against us;
so we made but little way, and enjoyed the tranquil beauty of the
evening. The sky was pale and clear, somewhat greenish overhead and
deepening along the line of the horizon into amber and rose. Behind us
lay the town with every brown spire articulated against the sky and
every vane glittering in the last glow that streamed up from the west.
To our left rose a line of steep chalk cliffs, and before us lay the
river, winding away through meadow lands fringed with willows and
poplars, and interspersed with green islands wooded to the water's edge.
Presently the last flush faded, and one large planet, splendid and
solitary, like the first poet of a dark century, emerged from the
deepening gray.

My companions were in high spirits. They jested; they laughed; they
hummed scraps of songs; they had a greeting for every boat that passed.
By-and-by, we came to an island with a little landing-place where a
score or two of boats were moored against the alders by the water's