in your land who had played ill providence to themselves. In the
second, no maid would covet him whom fate had given to another, it were
too fatiguing, or if such a thing DID happen, then one of them would
waive his claims, for no man or woman ever born was worth a wrangle,
and it is allowed us to barter and change a little."

All this was strange enough. I could not but laugh, while An laughed
at the lightest invitation, and thus chatting and deriding each other's
social arrangements we floated idly townwards and presently came out
into the main waterway perhaps a mile wide and flowing rapidly, as
streams will on the threshold of the spring, with brash or waste of
distant beaches riding down it, and every now and then a broken branch
or tree-stem glancing through waves whose crests a fresh wind lifted
and sowed in golden showers in the intervening furrows. The Martians
seemed expert upon the water, steering nimbly between these floating
dangers when they met them, but for the most part hugging the shore
where a more placid stream better suited their fancies, and for a time
all went well.

An, as we went along, was telling me more of her strange country,
pointing out birds or flowers and naming them to me. "Now that," she
said, pointing to a small grey owl who sat reflective on a floating log
we were approaching--"that is a bird of omen; cover your face and look
away, for it is not well to watch it."

Whereat I laughed. "Oh!" I answered, "so those ancient follies have
come as far as this, have they? But it is no bird grey or black or
white that can frighten folk where I come from; see, I will ruffle his
philosophy for him," and suiting the action to the words I lifted a
pebble that happened to lie at the bottom of the boat and flung it at
that creature with the melancholy eyes. Away went the owl, dipping his
wings into the water at every stroke, and as he went wailing out a
ghostly cry, which even amongst sunshine and glitter made one's flesh
creep.

An shook her head. "You should not have done that," she said; "our
dead whom we send down over the falls come back in the body of yonder
little bird. But he has gone now," she added, with relief; "see, he
settles far up stream upon the point of yonder rotten bough; I would
not disturb him again if I were you--"

Whatever more An would have said was lost, for amidst a sound of flutes
and singing round the bend of the river below came a crowd of boats
decked wi