THE BROOK IN APRIL 



nothing but the fine play of currents 

 across your fingers, in which all sensi- 

 tiveness and expectation seem to center. 

 It is wonderful how much soul crowds 

 down into your finger-tips when they feel 

 for something you cannot see in places 

 where things may bite. 



There may be a turtle there, and if so 

 you have leave to withdraw. It may be 

 an eel, and you need not mind, for the 

 eel will take care of himself; you can no 

 more grasp him than you can the quiver- 

 ing currents. It is customary to expect 

 water-snakes, and there is a fineness of 

 delight about the dread that the expecta- 

 tion inspires that is just a little more than 

 mortal. Orpheus, seeking dead Eurydice, 

 must have turned the corners on the way 

 down with some such feeling. Perhaps 

 it is because the dread is groundless that 

 it is so deific. It has no basis in the 

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