eze; and
they struck deeper into the willow roots as a pair of brawny arms
readied out and caught the dead boy, and carried him away.

The boy was gone, but the stain was there; and still a weight remained
upon the Brook. For still day after day a shadow fell upon her, and the
Brook looking up beheld the lovely but mournful face of the sorrowing
sister, who would sit upon the mossy bank and sigh a sob; kissing a lock
of golden hair the while. And heavier grew the weight on the breast of
the Brook, as scalding tears fell from the rock above upon her face.

And now the Brook again became discontented: and thought of her
ambitious sister; and what might have happened had she followed after on
a weary round of travels. The old meadow and the alders were out of the
question now: for the winter was coming on, and the laborer and the
lovely face would no more come to her side; and if they did they would
sing no more, but sigh and sob, and look so sad, as now, upon the mossy
rock above.

The summer weather was long over; and the leaves were showering down,
and had quite hidden the clouds and blue sky, and moon and stars from
the sight of the Brook. The birds had ceased to sit and warble on the
trees above. The breezes ceased their music, and instead were heard the
hoarse notes of the Autumn wind.

CHAPTER III.

_How the Brooklet and the Mountain-Torrent met._

One day the leaves thickened more than ever over the Brook, and, as she
peeped between, she saw the clouds were heavier and darker than usual.
The wind roared louder, and the trees which grew so high above her bent
down their branches until they brushed her face with their trailing. And
soon the rain began to fall in torrents; and it fell and fell all day;
all night too. Then the Brook rejoiced to think the leaves which she had
been angry with before for choking her, protected from the pattering
strokes. And soon the Brook heard a sound, like that made by her
ambitious sister in the spring-time;--nearer and nearer it came; through
the trees; over the rocks; tearing, splashing, dashing, and foaming at a
direful rate.

"It is my ambitious sister come for me. I'm glad," said the discontented
Brook.

"Glad of what?" exclaimed a roaring voice, coming over the rock, and
sweeping away the leaves as if they had been a mere handful; and
covering up the ugly purple stain upon the willow stump. "Ain't I a
famous fellow, though? When once my blood is up, can't I go o