Wave-marks ttndcr old Churches 307 



This continuous eating away of the earth proceeds so fast 

 that an old hollow oak tree now stands — at what may be 

 called the high tide of summer — so far from the strand that 

 a boat may pass between. 



Like a wooden island the old oak rears itself up in the 

 midst ; the waves break against it, and when there is but a 

 ripple the sunlight glancing on the water is reflected back, 

 and plays upon the rugged trunk, illuminating it with a 

 moving design as the wavelets roll in. The water is so 

 shallow at the edge that the shadows of the ridges of the 

 waves follow each other over the sandy floor. They reflect 

 the bright rays upon the tree-trunk, where they weave a 

 beautiful lace-like pattern — beneath, their own shadows 

 glide along the sand. That sand, too, is arranged by the 

 ripple in slightly curved lines. These wave-marks, though 

 so slight that with the hand you may level fifty at a sweep, 

 have yet sometimes proved durable enough to tell the stu- 

 dent after many centuries where water once has been. 

 Under the foundations of some of the oldest churches — the 

 monks loved to build near water— the wave-mark has been 

 found on the original soil. 



In a hollow of the old oak starlings have made their 

 nest and reared their young in safety for several seasons. 

 They seem to understand that the water gives them pro- 

 tection, for their nest would not be out of reach were the 

 tree on land. 



Just as at the seashore the wave curls over in an arch 

 as it comes in before dissolving in surf and spray, so here 

 when a gale is blowing, these lesser waves, as they reach the 

 shelving strand, also curl over. In the early morning, as 

 the sun begins to acquire some strength, the white mists 

 sweep over the surface and visibly melt and disappear. 

 One hot summer, when the lake was full, and kept so 



