Modern Review September 1919

But curiously enough though the scamp of the village—whose time was divided between tasting of the fruits stolen from the neighbours' trees and the more plentiful fruits of his stealing pressed on him by these same neighbours--remained within the village bounds clinging to his scolding mother the pet of the village ran away to join a hand of wandering players. [...] Not only music but the patter of the heavy July rain on the trees in full foliage the roll of the thunder the moaning of the wind through the thickets as of some infant giant strayed from its mother —would make him beside himself. [...] The distant cry of the kites flying high in the blazing midday sky the croaking of the frogs on a rainy evening the howling of the jackals at dead of night — all these stired him to his depths. [...] The sun shining out of a break in the clouds touch -.rd:a5 thougo with a magic.wand.the rows of half-submerged reeds at the water's edge the fresh juicy green of the sugar-cane paches higher up on the bank and the purple haze of the woodlands on the further shore against the distant horizon. [...] And when the steersman felt he would like a smoke Tarn relieved him at the helm and seemed to know exactly how to work the sail with the changing direction of the breeze and the boat.