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The earth was a mere shadow, formless and
silent, and empty, till a bullock turned up from somewhere, quite shadowy
too. He came smartly to the very edge of the bank as though he meant to
step on board, stretched his muzzle right over my boat, blew heavily
once, and walked off contemptuously into the darkness from which he had
come. I had not expected a call from a bullock, though a moment's
thought would have shown me that there must be lots of cattle and sheep
on that marsh. Then everything became still as before. I might have
imagined myself arrived on a desert island. In fact, as I reclined
smoking a sense of absolute loneliness grew on me. And just as it had
become intense, very abruptly and without any preliminary sound I heard
firm, quick footsteps on the little wharf. Somebody coming along the
cart-track had just stepped at a swinging gait on to the planks. That
somebody could only have been Mr. Powell. Suddenly he stopped short,
having made out that there were two masts alongside the bank where he had
left only one. Then he came on silent on the grass.


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