86 RIVERS IN SUMMER

roses shut their petals at our feet; the warm breath
of spruce closed round us when the cool wind
paused.

“The water’s never been as high as this in my
time; seventeenth of June today, and she’s still
rising.”

A faintly blue light spread evenly through the
canvas of the tent; birds were chirping intermit-
tently outside. The print stood out clearly on the
pages of my book, just as trees stand out more
sharply against the landscape on a cloudy day than
in sunlight. A spider started to walk in my direction
from the far corner; it came round a pack-sack,
climbed over my packet of cigarettes and stood still
on the brown canvas tent-floor. It was a very hand-
some spider, with long legs and a grey velvet body
striped with black. I squashed it, and went on read-
ing. The swallows still twittered; there was no other
sound. It was two o’clock in the morning.