82 MEMORIES 



^^'"■-■^■- ~> hollowed out quarters for a family of water-shrews. 

 By peeping motionless between the stems of an alder- 

 bush we may see them at their play. As they chase 

 one another about the pools they look like streaks of 

 silver light from the bubbles entangled in their fur. 

 Round they go, and in and out, in the mazes of the 

 water-shrew quadrille ; now out of sight beneath the 

 flags, and now popping up in the most unlooked-for 

 corner. Every now and then one will land upon the 

 stones, and, giving himself a single shake, sit there 

 for a moment basking in the sun, not wet one 



i^Ai^t^' -whit, but with a coat as soft and dry and shining as a 



mole's. 



By the River. 



It is the sun that shows us Nature's face to-day, 

 and tells the story of her children's lives. It is the 

 sun which sped the tiny feet upon the hill, and joyed 

 them so they could not choose but play. It is the 

 sun that set the shrew-mice dancing in the pools. 

 It is the sun that is filling all the air with a sense of 

 music — the sound of myriad insects that you cannot 

 see. It is the sun that draws the big pike from the 

 depths, and leaves him lying atop of the weeds, as 

 still and ugly as a crocodile on banks of Nile. 



n.c¥~t4^Bt 



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