t branches
hung down over the sides and even dipped their ends and seemed to be
repeated in the mirror-like surface. Here I could see silvery
lily-blossoms, and there others of gold floating like cups amongst the
broad round leaves, and, turning from the beautiful picture to my
companion, I could only say two words:

"It's glorious!"

"I should think it is," he cried. "We two are going to have no end of
fun together. You don't mind the other boys bullying you, and old Reb
snarling and finding fault, and the Doctor boxing your ears with your
books, when you've got places like this to come to. Hi! look at the old
moorhen, there, with her young ones," and he pointed to a
curious-looking bird swimming about and flicking its black and white
tail, as it went in and out among the rushes growing in the water, with
six little sooty-looking, downy young ones swimming after it. "Ever see
one of them before?"

"No," I said. "There's another over there too."

"No, it isn't; that's a bald coot. It's got a white shield on the top
of its head, and the moorhen's got a red one like sealing-wax. Hi! look
at that!"

For all of a sudden there was a rush and splash close to the reeds, and
the moorhen and five young ones went through the water with a dash to
hide among the reeds.

"Know what that was?"

"They saw us, and were frightened. Or did some one throw a big stone?"

"There's no one to throw big stones here. That was Mr Jack."

"Well, did he throw stones?" I said wonderingly.

"No! What a fellow you are! A jack--a pike--a big fish--took one of
the young moorhens for his dinner."

"Why, I thought pike lived on fish," I cried.

"They live on anything. I've seen them swallow young ducks and
water-rats and frogs--anything they can get. We'll come and set a
trimmer for that gentleman some day."

"I suppose I'm very stupid," I said; "but I've always lived in London,
and have very seldom been in the country. I don't know anything about
birds and fish."

"You soon will. There's always something to see here. Herons come
sometimes, but they don't stop, because it's too deep for them to wade
except in one place; and there's a hawk's nest over yonder in an old
fir-tree, but Bob Hopley shot the old birds, and you can see 'em nailed
up against his lodge. There was a magpie's nest, too, up in a big elm
tree not far off; but never mind them now. Let's catch some--Hist! look
there. See 'em?"

"No," I said, look