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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
120
In
the
lily
time
I
get
into
the
miller's
punt
and
make
them
an
excuse
for
paddling
about
among
the
mud
islands,
and
even
adventurously
exploring
the
river
as
it
winds
into
the
forest,
and
the
old
man
watches
me
anxiously
from
under
the
elm.
He
regards
my
feminine
desire
to
pick
water-lilies
with
indulgence,
but
is
clearly
uneasy
at
my
affection
for
mud
banks,
and
once,
after
I
had
stuck
on
one,
and
he
had
run
up
and
down
in
great
agitation
for
half
an
hour
shouting
instructions
as
to
getting
off
again,
he
said
when
I
was
safely
back
on
shore
that
people
with
petticoats
(his
way
of
expressing
woman)
were
never
intended
for
punts,
and
their
only
chance
of
safety
lay
in
dry
land
and
keeping
quiet.
I
did
not
this
time
attempt
the
punt,
for
I
was
tired,
and
it
was
half
full
of
water,
probably
poured
into
it
by
a
miller
weary
of
the
ways
of
women;
and
I
drank
my
tea
quietly,
going
on
at
the
same
time
with
my
interrupted
afternoon
reading
of
the
Sorrows
of
Werther,
in
which
I
had
reached
a
part
that
has
a
special
fascination
for
me
every
time
I
read
it--that
part
where
Werther
first
meets
Lotte,
and
where,
after
a
thunderstorm;
they
both
go
to
the
window,
and
she
is
so
touched
by
the
beauties
of
nature
that
she
lays
her
hand
on
his
and
murmurs
"Klopstock,"--to
the
complete
dismay
of
the
reader,
though
not
of
Werther,
for
he,
we
find,
was
so
carried
away
by
the
magic
word
that
he
flung
himself
on
to
her
hand
and
kissed
it
with
tears
of
rapture.
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