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What
has
become
of
the
money
since
no
one
knows
.
They
say
it
is
always
handed
over
to
the
nearest
wax-works
show
.
Shiplake
is
a
pretty
village
,
but
it
can
not
be
seen
from
the
river
,
being
upon
the
hill
.
Tennyson
was
married
in
Shiplake
Church
.
The
river
up
to
Sonning
winds
in
and
out
through
many
islands
,
and
is
very
placid
,
hushed
,
and
lonely
.
Few
folk
,
except
at
twilight
,
a
pair
or
two
of
rustic
lovers
,
walk
along
its
banks
.
'
Arry
and
Lord
Fitznoodle
have
been
left
behind
at
Henley
,
and
dismal
,
dirty
Reading
is
not
yet
reached
.
It
is
a
part
of
the
river
in
which
to
dream
of
bygone
days
,
and
vanished
forms
and
faces
,
and
things
that
might
have
been
,
but
are
not
,
confound
them
.
We
got
out
at
Sonning
,
and
went
for
a
walk
round
the
village
.
It
is
the
most
fairy-like
little
nook
on
the
whole
river
.
It
is
more
like
a
stage
village
than
one
built
of
bricks
and
mortar
.
Every
house
is
smothered
in
roses
,
and
now
,
in
early
June
,
they
were
bursting
forth
in
clouds
of
dainty
splendour
.
If
you
stop
at
Sonning
,
put
up
at
the
"
Bull
,
"
behind
the
church
.
It
is
a
veritable
picture
of
an
old
country
inn
,
with
green
,
square
courtyard
in
front
,
where
,
on
seats
beneath
the
trees
,
the
old
men
group
of
an
evening
to
drink
their
ale
and
gossip
over
village
politics
;
with
low
,
quaint
rooms
and
latticed
windows
,
and
awkward
stairs
and
winding
passages
.
We
roamed
about
sweet
Sonning
for
an
hour
or
so
,
and
then
,
it
being
too
late
to
push
on
past
Reading
,
we
decided
to
go
back
to
one
of
the
Shiplake
islands
,
and
put
up
there
for
the
night
.
It
was
still
early
when
we
got
settled
,
and
George
said
that
,
as
we
had
plenty
of
time
,
it
would
be
a
splendid
opportunity
to
try
a
good
,
slap-up
supper
.
He
said
he
would
show
us
what
could
be
done
up
the
river
in
the
way
of
cooking
,
and
suggested
that
,
with
the
vegetables
and
the
remains
of
the
cold
beef
and
general
odds
and
ends
,
we
should
make
an
Irish
stew
.
It
seemed
a
fascinating
idea
.
George
gathered
wood
and
made
a
fire
,
and
Harris
and
I
started
to
peel
the
potatoes
.
I
should
never
have
thought
that
peeling
potatoes
was
such
an
undertaking
.
The
job
turned
out
to
be
the
biggest
thing
of
its
kind
that
I
had
ever
been
in
.
We
began
cheerfully
,
one
might
almost
say
skittishly
,
but
our
light-heartedness
was
gone
by
the
time
the
first
potato
was
finished
.
The
more
we
peeled
,
the
more
peel
there
seemed
to
be
left
on
;
by
the
time
we
had
got
all
the
peel
off
and
all
the
eyes
out
,
there
was
no
potato
left
--
at
least
none
worth
speaking
of
.
George
came
and
had
a
look
at
it
--
it
was
about
the
size
of
a
pea-nut
.
He
said
:
"
Oh
,
that
wo
n't
do
!
You
're
wasting
them
.
You
must
scrape
them
.
"
So
we
scraped
them
,
and
that
was
harder
work
than
peeling
.
They
are
such
an
extraordinary
shape
,
potatoes
--
all
bumps
and
warts
and
hollows
.
We
worked
steadily
for
five-and-twenty
minutes
,
and
did
four
potatoes
.
Then
we
struck
.
We
said
we
should
require
the
rest
of
the
evening
for
scraping
ourselves
.
I
never
saw
such
a
thing
as
potato-scraping
for
making
a
fellow
in
a
mess
.
