THE WATER-HEN 
suddenly found himself on the river-bank. 
His heritage was before him the wide 
shallows, the still pools and creeks with their 
strong cool river smells. To left and right lay 
the flowering coverts that every riverside moor- 
hen knows and loves bittersweet, willow- 
herb, and the bluebell flower. Against the 
setting moon the weir stood up like a wall of 
roaring water dappled with shifting silver 
lights, and at its foot, among the eddies, Cearc- 
uise stood on a shaggy moss-stone and called to 
him to take seizin of the place. The air was 
full of the music of running water and the 
smell of the rain on the lush-grass. . . . The 
chick took a header off the bank, and the river 
received him gladly. 
39 
