1 44 THE FLOWER 



stump or trips over a hidden stone. And, 

 save for these voices of the water, the 

 hush of winter's deep dream. 



But emerging from the chilling shade 

 of the narrow valley and looking against 

 the sun which is bathing the open fields 

 with its starved, thin light, the air is full 

 of moving gnats. Strange it seems that 

 the mighty power of the frost, which is 

 even now sheeting the edges of the mov- 

 ing water with ice, is impotent to quench 

 the tiny drops of life which throb within 

 each one of these dancing specks ! There 

 is scarcely a ripple on the stream here. 

 It slides, smooth and deep, between its 

 frozen banks. But yonder the dimples of 

 rising fish are every moment meltinginto 

 the broken surface of the current. The 

 angler, whose curiosity for observing the 

 ways of the fishes in their natural element 

 is as keen as his delight in trying to out- 

 wit them with rod and line, creeps cau- 

 tiously to the bank. He treads with care 



