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We
went
up
the
backwater
to
Wargrave
.
It
is
a
short
cut
,
leading
out
of
the
right-hand
bank
about
half
a
mile
above
Marsh
Lock
,
and
is
well
worth
taking
,
being
a
pretty
,
shady
little
piece
of
stream
,
besides
saving
nearly
half
a
mile
of
distance
.
Of
course
,
its
entrance
is
studded
with
posts
and
chains
,
and
surrounded
with
notice
boards
,
menacing
all
kinds
of
torture
,
imprisonment
,
and
death
to
everyone
who
dares
set
scull
upon
its
waters
--
I
wonder
some
of
these
riparian
boors
do
n't
claim
the
air
of
the
river
and
threaten
everyone
with
forty
shillings
fine
who
breathes
it
--
but
the
posts
and
chains
a
little
skill
will
easily
avoid
;
and
as
for
the
boards
,
you
might
,
if
you
have
five
minutes
to
spare
,
and
there
is
nobody
about
,
take
one
or
two
of
them
down
and
throw
them
into
the
river
.
Half-way
up
the
backwater
,
we
got
out
and
lunched
;
and
it
was
during
this
lunch
that
George
and
I
received
rather
a
trying
shock
.
Harris
received
a
shock
,
too
;
but
I
do
not
think
Harris
's
shock
could
have
been
anything
like
so
bad
as
the
shock
that
George
and
I
had
over
the
business
.
You
see
,
it
was
in
this
way
:
we
were
sitting
in
a
meadow
,
about
ten
yards
from
the
water
's
edge
,
and
we
had
just
settled
down
comfortably
to
feed
.
Harris
had
the
beefsteak
pie
between
his
knees
,
and
was
carving
it
,
and
George
and
I
were
waiting
with
our
plates
ready
.
"
Have
you
got
a
spoon
there
?
"
says
Harris
;
"
I
want
a
spoon
to
help
the
gravy
with
.
"
The
hamper
was
close
behind
us
,
and
George
and
I
both
turned
round
to
reach
one
out
.
We
were
not
five
seconds
getting
it
.
When
we
looked
round
again
,
Harris
and
the
pie
were
gone
!
It
was
a
wide
,
open
field
.
There
was
not
a
tree
or
a
bit
of
hedge
for
hundreds
of
yards
.
He
could
not
have
tumbled
into
the
river
,
because
we
were
on
the
water
side
of
him
,
and
he
would
have
had
to
climb
over
us
to
do
it
.
George
and
I
gazed
all
about
.
Then
we
gazed
at
each
other
.
