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Updated: June 17, 2025
He cut the roding just as Lonesome reached tide mark. James, he sees it's a close call, and he shins back to the engine, reaching it exactly at the time when the gent with the pitchfork laid hands on the rail. Then the parson throws over the switch I'd shown him how, you remember and gives the starting wheel a full turn. Well, you know the Greased Lightning?
Another curious habit noticed in these birds is that of flying on fine evenings to a considerable height and then swooping suddenly to earth, often on their backs. These antics, comparable to the drumming of snipe and roding of woodcock, are probably to be explained on the same basis of sexual emotion.
But a yell of laughter went up as a dory shot from her station with exceeding speed, its occupant pulling madly on the roding. "Give her slack!" roared twenty voices. "Let him shake it out." "What's the matter?" said Harvey, as the boat flashed away to the southward. "He's anchored, isn't he?" "Anchored, sure enough, but his graound-tackle's kinder shifty," said Dan, laughing.
It was now pitch-dark and snowing heavily, the very time which Philippa generally chose for a quiet evening walk. I rushed half-way to Roding, changed my mind, headed back, and arrived at the 'pike. 'Has a lady called for me? I asked the Sphynx. 'Now, is it likely, sir? answered my fellow, with rough humour.
Our trawl was in, our fish in the waist of the dory, and we lay to our roding line and second anchor, so we might not drift miles to loo'ard while waiting for the vessel to pick us up. We could see the vessel to her hull, when to the top of a sea we rose together; but nothing of her at all when into the hollows we fell together. She had picked up all but the dory next to wind'ard of us.
Her long curved eyelashes hid her eyes, which presumably were also pink, but certainly my mother's broad pleasantry had called a tell-tale blush to the cheek of the young person. As we drew near Folkestone I remembered the letter, but the sight of the Roding postmark induced me to defer opening it till we should be on board the steamer.
Mamma's face, in the hall, breaking up suddenly. Her tears in your mouth. Her arms, crushing you. Mamma's face at the dining-room window. Tears, pricking, cutting your eyelids. Blink them back before the girls see them. Don't think of Mamma. The Thames. Barking Creek goes into the Thames and the Roding goes into Barking Creek.
Wanstead is a curious example of the faith of wild-fowl in a sanctuary, for the lake is so narrow that you could toss a stone among the fowl from the bank. Suburban houses are close by on all sides but the meadows by the little river Roding. Yet the fowl come to the lake as confidently as they do to great sanctuaries like Holkham.
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