36 THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS. 



and his long, shrill and peculiar whistle at the gate 

 beneath the beech. She was certain of the time, for 

 these reasons : first, she had seen the wood-pigeon go 

 up into the beech just before she started out; secondly, 

 she remembered nodding to an aged labourer who came 

 up to the house every morning at that hour for his 

 ale; thirdly, it would take a person walking slowly 

 eight or ten minutes to cross that side of the mead ; 

 and, fourthly, when she came back to the house to see 

 if Luke was there, the clock pointed to a quarter past, 

 and was known to be a little fast. Without a doubt 

 she had heard the well-known whistle, apparently 

 coming from the gate beneath the beech exactly at 

 the moment poor Luke was dashed to pieces twelve 

 miles away. 



IIL A ROMAN BROOK. 



The brook has forgotten me, but I have not for- 

 gotten the brook. Many faces have been mirrored 

 since in the flowing water, many feet have waded in 

 the sandy shallow. I wonder if any one else can see 

 it in a picture before t!ic eyes as I can, bright, and 

 vivid as trees suddenly shown at night by a great 

 flash of lightning. All the leaves and branches and 

 the birds at roost are visible during the flash. It is 

 barely a second ; it seems much longer. Memory, 

 like the lightning, reveals the pictures in the mind. 

 Every curve, and shore, and shallow is as familiar 

 now as when I followed the winding stream so often, 

 When the mowing-grass was at its height, you could 

 not walk far beside the bank ; it grew so thick and 



