182 



THE BROOK BOOK 



After passing through the place of the bad ivy, 

 the path along Clear Brook makes a sudden bend 

 toward the left and brings one directly to the 

 bank of the stream. One day I found a boat 

 there, and daringly seating myself in it, I pushed 



it off and pulled slowly down 

 stream. The left bank was in 

 deep shade and sloped down 

 close to the water's edge. A 

 wide fringe of forget-me-nots 

 hung over, fairly dipping their 

 sweet blue faces into the 

 water. I drew up close and 

 put my hand in among them 

 to feel their cool leaves. The 

 water was a perfect mirror. 

 No wonder they peered over 

 the edge ! I looked at the 

 reflections in the stream and 

 then at the realities on the 

 bank. How faithful was the 

 unbroken surface ! I shifted 

 my position. The ripples fled from beneath the 

 boat and lapped against the forget-me-nots. Again 

 there came stillness and smoothness. 



I had drifted a little way, and a new reflection 

 came into the mirror. This was a brookside trailer, 

 w r ith leaves like long pointed arrows. It managed 

 to be reflected by trailing its long, recumbent 

 branches over a mat of forget-me-nots, then over 

 the tops of a clump of sedges. Finding no further 

 support, it hung there, plucking at me as I drifted 



FORGET-ME-NOTS 



