have been got up as a practical joke, because it wasn't a bit like the

real thing, and only misleading. It was a country cousin that Harris
took in. He said:

"We'll just go in here, so that you can say you've been, but it's very
simple. It's absurd to call it a maze. You keep on taking the first

turning to the right. We'll just walk round for ten minutes, and then go
and get some lunch."

They met some people soon after they had got inside, who said they had
been there for three-quarters of an hour, and had had about enough of it.

Harris told them they could follow him, if they liked; he was just going
in, and then should turn round and come out again. They said it was very

kind of him, and fell behind, and followed.
They picked up various other people who wanted to get it over, as they

went along, until they had absorbed all the persons in the maze. People
who had given up all hopes of ever getting either in or out, or of ever

seeing their home and friends again, plucked up courage at the sight of
Harris and his party, and joined the procession, blessing him. Harris

said he should judge there must have been twenty people, following him,
in all; and one woman with a baby, who had been there all the morning,

insisted on taking his arm, for fear of losing him.
Harris kept on turning to the right, but it seemed a long way, and his

cousin said he supposed it was a very big maze.
"Oh, one of the largest in Europe," said Harris.

"Yes, it must be," replied the cousin, "because we've walked a good two
miles already."

Harris began to think it rather strange himself, but he held on until, at
last, they passed the half of a penny bun on the ground that Harris's

cousin swore he had noticed there seven minutes ago. Harris said: "Oh,
impossible!" but the woman with the baby said, "Not at all," as she

herself had taken it from the child, and thrown it down there, just
before she met Harris. She also added that she wished she never had met

Harris, and expressed an opinion that he was an impostor. That made
Harris mad, and he produced his map, and explained his theory.

"The map may be all right enough," said one of the party, "if you know
whereabouts in it we are now."

Harris didn't know, and suggested that the best thing to do would be to
go back to the entrance, and begin again. For the beginning again part

of it there was not much enthusiasm; but with regard to the advisability
of going back to the entrance there was complete unanimity, and so they

turned, and trailed after Harris again, in the opposite direction. About
ten minutes more passed, and then they found themselves in the centre.

Harris thought at first of pretending that that was what he had been
aiming at; but the crowd looked dangerous, and he decided to treat it as

an accident.
Anyhow, they had got something to start from then. They did know where

they were, and the map was once more consulted, and the thing seemed
simpler than ever, and off they started for the third time.

And three minutes later they were back in the centre again.
After that, they simply couldn't get anywhere else. Whatever way they

turned brought them back to the middle. It became so regular at length,
that some of the people stopped there, and waited for the others to take

a walk round, and come back to them. Harris drew out his map again,
after a while, but the sight of it only infuriated the mob, and they told

him to go and curl his hair with it. Harris said that he couldn't help
feeling that, to a certain extent, he had become unpopular.

They all got crazy at last, and sang out for the keeper, and the man came
and climbed up the ladder outside, and shouted out directions to them.

But all their heads were, by this time, in such a confused whirl that
they were incapable of grasping anything, and so the man told them to

stop where they were, and he would come to them. They huddled together,
and waited; and he climbed down, and came in.

He was a young keeper, as luck would have it, and new to the business;
and when he got in, he couldn't find them, and he wandered about, trying

to get to them, and then HE got lost. They caught sight of him, every
now and then, rushing about the other side of the hedge, and he would see

them, and rush to get to them, and they would wait there for about five
minutes, and then he would reappear again in exactly the same spot, and

ask them where they had been.
They had to wait till one of the old keepers came back from his dinner

before they got out.
Harris said he thought it was a very fine maze, so far as he was a judge;

and we agreed that we would try to get George to go into it, on our way
back.

CHAPTER VII.
THE RIVER IN ITS SUNDAY GARB. - DRESS ON THE RIVER. - A CHANCE FOR THE

MEN. - ABSENCE OF TASTE IN HARRIS. - GEORGE'S BLAZER. - A DAY WITH THE
FASHION-PLATE YOUNG LADY. - MRS. THOMAS'S TOMB. - THE MAN WHO LOVES NOT

GRAVES AND COFFINS AND SKULLS. - HARRIS MAD. - HIS VIEWS ON GEORGE AND
BANKS AND LEMONADE. - HE PERFORMS TRICKS.

IT was while passing through Moulsey Lock that Harris told me about his
maze experience. It took us some time to pass through, as we were the

only boat, and it is a big lock. I don't think I ever remember to have
seen Moulsey Lock, before, with only one boat in it. It is, I suppose,

Boulter's not even excepted, the busiest lock on the river.
I have stood and watched it, sometimes, when you could not see any water

at all, but only a brillianttangle of bright blazers, and gay caps, and
saucy hats, and many-coloured parasols, and silken rugs, and cloaks, and

streaming ribbons, and dainty whites; when looking down into the lock
from the quay, you might fancy it was a huge box into which flowers of

every hue and shade had been thrown pell-mell, and lay piled up in a
rainbow heap, that covered every corner.

On a fine Sunday it presents this appearance nearly all day long, while,
up the stream, and down the stream, lie, waiting their turn, outside the

gates, long lines of still more boats; and boats are drawing near and
passing away, so that the sunny river, from the Palace up to Hampton

Church, is dotted and decked with yellow, and blue, and orange, and
white, and red, and pink. All the inhabitants of Hampton and Moulsey

dress themselves up in boating costume, and come and mouch round the lock
with their dogs, and flirt, and smoke, and watch the boats; and,

altogether, what with the caps and jackets of the men, the pretty
coloured dresses of the women, the excited dogs, the moving boats, the

white sails, the pleasant landscape, and the sparkling water, it is one
of the gayest sights I know of near this dull old London town.

The river affords a good opportunity for dress. For once in a way, we
men are able to show our taste in colours, and I think we come out very

natty, if you ask me. I always like a little red in my things - red and
black. You know my hair is a sort of golden brown, rather a pretty shade

I've been told, and a dark red matches it beautifully; and then I always
think a light-blue necktie goes so well with it, and a pair of those

Russian-leather shoes and a red silk handkerchief round the waist - a
handkerchief looks so much better than a belt.

Harris always keeps to shades or mixtures of orange or yellow, but I
don't think he is at all wise in this. His complexion is too dark for

yellows. Yellows don't suit him: there can be no question about it. I
want him to take to blue as a background, with white or cream for relief;

but, there! the less taste a person has in dress, the more obstinate he
always seems to be. It is a great pity, because he will never be a

success as it is, while there are one or two colours in which he might
not really look so bad, with his hat on.

George has bought some new things for this trip, and I'm rather vexed
about them. The blazer is loud. I should not like George to know that I

thought so, but there really is no other word for it. He brought it home
and showed it to us on Thursday evening. We asked him what colour he