t comes tumbling and winding, a series of miniature
cascades, over brown rocks, between mossy banks shadowed by ferns and
eglantine, through the sun-shot dimness of a grove of pine-trees, to
fling itself with a final leap and flash (such light-hearted
self-immolation) into the ornamental pond at the bottom of the lawn.
It is a pretty brook, and pleasing to the ear, with its purl and tinkle
of crisp water.

And now, as Anthony, heading for the Wetherleigh-wards exit of the
park, approached the brook, to cross it,--"Sh, sh--please, please,"--a
whisper stopped him.

There by the bank, under the tall pines, where sun and shadow chequered
the russet carpet of pine-needles, there, white-robed, sat Susanna:
white-robed, hatless, gloveless. She was waving her hand, softly, in a
gesture invocative of caution; but her eyes smiled a welcome to him.

Anthony halted, waited,--his heart, I think, high-bearing.

"It is a blue tit," she explained, under her breath, eagerly. "The
rarest bird that ever comes. He is bathing--there--see." She pointed.

Sure enough, in a little rock-formed pool a couple of yards up-stream,
a tiny blue titmouse was vigorously enjoying his bath--ducking,
fluttering, preening his plumage, ducking again, and sending off
shooting-stars of spray, prismatic stars where they crossed the
sunbeams.

"That is the delight of this bit of water," Susanna said, always with
bated breath. "The birds for miles about come here to drink and bathe.
All the rarer and timider birds, that one never sees anywhere else."

"Ah, yes. Very jolly, very interesting," said Anthony, not quite
knowing what he said, perhaps, for his faculties, I hope, were singing
a _Te Deum_. But--with that high nose of his, that cool grey eye, with
that high collar too, and the general self-assurance of his toilet--no
one could have appeared more composed or more collected.

"You speak without conviction," said Susanna. "Don't you care for
birds?"

("Come! You must get yourself in hand," his will admonished his wit.)

"I beg your pardon," he said, "I care for them very much. They 're an
indispensable feature of the landscape, and immensely serviceable to
the agriculturist. But one cares for other things as well. And I had
always fancied that the crowning virtue of this bit of water (since you
mention it) was its amenability to the caprice of man."

"Men _have_ caprices?" questioned she, surprise in her upward glance.

"At any rate