h my
water-wheel." But Mother said, "Don't be selfish, Arthur." And he
said, "I forgot. All right, Chris; bring me the book." So they went
and sat in the conservatory, not to disturb any one. But very soon
they came back, Chris crying, and saying, "It couldn't be the right
one, Arthur;" and Arthur frowning, and saying, "It _is_ the right
story; but it's _stuff_. I'll tell you what that book's good for,
Chris. To paint the pictures. And you've got a new paint-box." So
Mother said, "What's the matter?" And Arthur said, "Chris thinks I
haven't read him the right story to his Toad Picture. But I have, and
what do you think it's about? It's about the silliest little girl you
can imagine--a regular mawk of a girl--_and a Frog_. Not a toad, but a
F. R. O. G. frog! A regular hop, skip, jumping frog!"

Arthur hopped round the room, but Chris cried bitterly. So Arthur ran
up to him and kissed him, and said, "Don't cry, old chap, I'll tell
you what I'll do. You get Mary to cut out a lot of the leaves of your
book that have no pictures, and that will make it like a real
scrap-book; and then I'll give you a lot of my scraps and pictures to
paste over what's left of the stories, and you'll have such a
painting-book as you never had in all your life before."

So we did. And Arthur was very good, for he gave Chris pictures that I
know he prized, because Chris liked them. But the very first picture
he gave him was the "Crane and Water-reeds."

I thought it so good of Arthur to be so nice with Chris that I wished
I could have helped him over his water-wheel. He had put Japan out of
his head since the disappointment, and spent all his play-time in
making mills and machinery. He did grind some corn into flour once,
but it was not at all white. He said that was because the bran was
left in. But it was not only bran in Arthur's flour. There was a good
deal of sand too, from his millstones being made of sandstone, which
he thought would not matter. But it grinds off.

Down in the valley, below Mary's Meadow, runs the Ladybrook, which
turns the old water-wheel of Mary's Mill. It is a very picturesque old
mill, and Mother has made beautiful sketches of it. She caught the
last cold she got before going abroad with sketching it--the day we
had a most delightful picnic there, and went about in the punt. And
from that afternoon Arthur made up his mind that his next mill should
be a water-mill.

The reason I am no good at helping Arthur about