BY THE MILL-STREAM. 135 



At the bottom of the moor the stream widens into 

 a pond surrounded by fir-trees, noted for the size 

 and quality of its trout. Then through woods and 

 broken ground it runs a clear, sharp stream, follow- 

 ing which we come suddenly on the mill-house, 

 which is almost hidden among trees. In front the 

 stream has formed a lake, the sides covered with 

 rush and reed, the home of the water-rail, moor-hen, 

 and pike. Quack, quack ! a splash, and with her 

 head and body stretched flat out on the water, a 

 duck has just given the alarm to her young ones, 

 striking the water up with her wings. Helter- 

 skelter they scuttle for the reeds; one is too late. 

 A swirl in the water, a downward, vicious snatch, 

 and Mr Pike has duck for lunch. 



A very good thing it is the miller did not see that 

 duckling go, it might have ruffled the sweetness of 

 his disposition ; and we intend asking permission to 

 walk through his meadows and look at the trout- 

 stream. 



Before knocking at the mill-door we look round 

 for a moment at the perfect picture which presents 

 itself. The old mill is grey, its wheel covered over 

 with moss. As with most of the mills hereabouts, 



