MEMORIES 



83 



It is the sun that, laying a broad hand upon the 

 stream, smoothes all his eddies out and sends him on 

 between his banks of glistening goss, not babbling 

 loud as is his wont, but murmuring softly in his 

 sleep. 



Yes, the river is very sleepy to-day. Truth to tell, 

 however, it never really hurries save at flood. It 

 lacks the boulders and the rapids of the North and 

 West. A dipper flying here from mountain burns 

 would lose all joy of life in the slow reaches of this 

 southern stream. 



Yet the sleepy river has its share of living interests, 

 not few and not unvaried, and all especial to quiet 

 valleys such as this. 



There, resting on the end of a bough of half-sunk 

 willow, is a moorhen's nest. The water-rats use it as 

 a dinner-table now, for the dusky babies tumbled 

 out of it and into the water full six weeks ago. 



No water-rat makes those circles that come from 

 under the willow stub. They are too wide and 

 heavy. No ; it is the water-hen herself. She dives 

 with a quiet splash, and a chain of tell-tale bubbles 

 marks her way to the opposite bank. There is little 

 shelter on the further side, so she will not scramble out 

 till we are gone. But, keeping still and looking closely, 



Acrtjc. 





