As they passed on upstream Jones said: "There's no pool above, only a rapid."
"You're in error," said Ellis, confidently. "I've known every pool on the Caranay for years."
"But there is no pool above—unless you mean to trespass."
"Trespass!" repeated Ellis, aghast. "Trespass in the free Caranay forests! You—you don't mean to say that any preserve has been established on the Caranay! I haven't been here for three years.... Do you?"
"Look there," said Jones, pointing to a high fence of netted wire which rose above the undergrowth and cut the banks of the stream in two with a barrier eight feet high; "that's what stopped me. There's their home-designed trespass notice hanging to the fence. Read it; it's worth perusal."
Speechless, but still incredulous, Ellis strode to the barrier and looked up. And this is what he read printed in mincing "Art Nouveau" type upon a swinging zinc sign fashioned to imitate something or other which was no doubt very precious:
Oyez!
Ye simple livers of ye simpler life have raised thys barrier against ye World, ye Flesh and ye Devyl. Turn back in Peace and leave us to our Nunnery.
Ye Maids and Dames of Vassar.