76 RIVERS IN SUMMER

shining bronze of the river. Our boat lay darkly
upon water that was purple and coldly green
beyond the edge of the bank, and a star hung be-
tween two trees that were now no more than black
silhouettes against a cold green stretch of sky.

After supper we sat by a glowing fire. There was
no river, and no sky; only the murmur of water as
it passed our swinging boat, and the crackling of
logs, and the new, sweet scent; only the firelight on
the boles of trees, on the little patch of white canvas
between the trees and on the soft carpet of lupines
that was spread over the clearing. We made entries
in our notebooks about consumption of gasolene,
location of boulders in rapids, and time of travel.
The shadows of hand and pencil jumped up to ob-
scure the page, vanished and grew large again. The
fire died down. We left it, and went across the
scented carpet to our tent and slept.