Next morning the sun blazed out over England’s loveliest stream, the Fal, as, widening, it flowed seaward.  We hurried down to the foot of Doe’s garden, where a rustic boat-house sheltered his private vessel, the Lady Fal.  Doe stepped into its stern, and I into its bows, and Radley took the oars.  With a few masterly manoeuvres he turned the boat into midstream, and then pulled a rapid and powerful stroke towards Tresillian Creek, where we had decided to bathe.  We touched the bank at a suitable landing-place, disembarked, and prepared to undress.

The events of this day linger with me like a string of jewels; and the bathe was one of the brightest of them all.  There was a race between Doe and myself to be first in the water.  As I tossed off my clothes, the excitement of anticipation was inflating me.  I would surprise them with my swimming.

My mother had taught me to swim.  We began our studies in the bath, when I was still a baby, she leaning over the side and directing my splashing limbs.  We achieved the desired result some years later in the French seas off Boulogne.  She never could swim a stroke herself, but was splendid in the book-work of the thing.  Since those days she had given me unlimited opportunities to acquire perfection.  So now, Radley and Doe, my masters, you should learn a thing or two!

The undressing race resulted in a dead-heat, but whereas Doe contented himself with a humble jump into the stream, I contrived to execute a racing dive.  Glorious immersion!  It was lovely, oh, lovely!  The embrace of the cool river seemed entrancing, and I remained a fathom down, experiencing one continuous delight.  Unfortunately I was under water longer than my breath would hold out, and came to the view of Radley and Doe, choking and spluttering and splashing.  Anxious to retrieve my reputation, for I was detestably conceited about my art, I started off for a long, speedy swim, displaying my best racing stroke.  Back again, at an even faster pace, I got entangled with Doe, who greeted me a little jealously with:  “Gracious!  Where did you learn to swim like that?” Radley’s mouth was set, and he remained mercilessly silent.  He wasn’t going to teach me conceit.

Soon we were clothed again, and back in the boat with untidy wet hair and stinging eyes, but with the glow of health warming our bodies.

Throughout the day we plied our craft over the Fal, lunching up King Harry Reach, and taking tea not far from Truro.  When we turned the head of the Lady Fal for home, the sun was sinking fast, and Radley pulled his swiftest, as he wished to be at Graysroof before dark.  So I lay in the bows and wondered at the straightness of his back, and Doe nestled in the stern and admired the width of his chest.

We glided over the surface:  and there were no sounds anywhere, save the rushes kissing the reeds, the water lapping the sides of the boat, the little fishes chattering beneath, and the rhythmic music of Radley’s graceful feathering, which sounded like the flutter of a bird upon the wing.