Above a wooded knoll the moon rose, setting the river a-silver. Trees knelt along the banks like cattle, stooping to drink. In the distance the bridge leapt the chasm of darkness and lights of the town sprang up. Like a fleet of dreams against green wharfs of fairyland, illumined houseboats shone fantastic. Chains of lamps, strung through boughs of gardens, gleamed like jewels on the throat of the dusk. The river sang incoherently, in a voice that was half asleep. Peter slipped his hand into Cherry's; her hand seemed quite unconscious of what he was doing. And now they drew near to the crowd of pleasure-craft, which jostled one another and beat the water like a run of salmon in shallows. Harry laid aside the pole and took to the paddle. They lit their candles and flew their heraldry. In their disguises no one would know them; with the restraint of their identities lifted from them they scarcely recognized themselves. The Faun Man gave the word; the punt was allowed to drift. They all struck up: “Go h'on away. Go h'on away. Mind yer, I'm meanin' wot I say. My 'air and 'at-pin's gone astray-- Stop yer messin'. A pound a week yer earn yer say-- Oh, I don't fink!- Two bob a day's More like. I loves yer. Yer can stay, Yer bloomin' blessin'.” They tickled the people's fancy; they were so obviously out for a lark and so evidently intended to have it. When “My bloke's a moke” was sung, from bank to bank the chorus was taken up; even the strollers, hanging over the bridge, caught the swing of it. “For yer cawn't be 'appy when yer 'alf in love-- Yer must taik one road or the other; Yer can maike o' life an up'ill shove, Or marry a bloke wot ain't yer brother.” The Faun Man turned to the golden woman and addressed the words to her shamelessly. He put his arm about her, and drew her head down against his shoulder. Through the slits in her mask her eyes gleamed up. Peter, watching, wondered why it was that she would only be kind to him in fun; he had noticed that, when the Faun Man was in earnest, she never responded. They had been singing for an hour, pushed this way and that, too jammed to attempt steering. Their punt had drifted near a house-boat, all a-swing with lanterns and steep with flowers. Through the windows they could see that a dinner had just ended; tall young men in evening dress sprawled back in chairs. Corks were still popping. The Faun Man whispered, “They're one of the crews breaking training. What'll we give 'em? Oh, yes, this'll do. Tune up.” So they tuned up: “If yer gal ain't all yer thought 'er, And for everyfing yer've bought 'er She don't seem to care a 'appenny pot o' glue; If she tells yer she won't miss yer,