The Brook Path 167 



On the very bank of the brook there grows a beech 

 whose bare boughs droop over, almost dipping in the 

 water, where it comes with a swift rush from the 

 narrow arches of a small bridge whose bricks are 

 green with moss. The current is still slightly turbid, 

 for the floods have not long subsided, and the soaked 

 meadows and ploughed fields send their rills to swell 

 the brook and stain it with sand and earth. On the 

 surface float down twigs and small branches forced 

 from the trees by the gales : sometimes an entangled 

 mass of aquatic weeds long, slender green filaments 

 twisted and matted together comes more slowly 

 because heavy and deep in the water. 



A little bird comes flitting silently from the willows 

 and perches on the drooping beech branch. It is a 

 delicate little creature, the breast of a faint and dull 

 yellowy green, the wings the lightest brown, and there 

 is a pencilled streak over the eye. The beak is so 

 slender it scarce seems capable of the work it should 

 do, the legs and feet so tiny that they are barely 

 visible. Hardly has he perched than the keen eyes 

 detect a small black speck that has just issued from 

 the arch, floating fast on the surface of the stream and 

 borne round and round in a tiny whirlpool. 



He darts from the branch, hovers just above the 

 water, and in a second has seized the black speck and 



