permanent
shower of green to refresh the bright water; and in winter, like loose
osier-work, or wattles curved for binding.

Under one of the largest of these willows the runaway Jack had made a
seat, whereon to sit and watch his toy boat cruising on the inland wave.
Often when Mary was tired of hoping for the return of her playmate, she
came to this place to think about him, and wonder whether he thought of
her. And now in the soft December evening (lonely and sad, but fair to
look at, like herself) she was sitting here.

The keen east wind, which had set in as Captain Brown predicted, was
over now, and succeeded by the gentler influence of the west. Nothing
could be heard in this calm nook but the lingering touch of the dying
breeze, and the long soft murmur of the distant sea, and the silvery
plash of a pair of coots at play. Neither was much to be seen, except
the wavering glisten and long shadows of the mere, the tracery of trees
against the fading light, and the outline of the maiden as she leaned
against the trunk. Generations of goat-moths in their early days of
voracity had made a nice hollow for her hat to rest in, and some of the
powdering willow dusted her bright luxuriant locks with gold. Her face
was by no means wan or gloomy, and she added to the breezes not a single
sigh. This happened without any hardness of heart, or shallow contempt
of the nobler affections; simply from the hopefulness of healthful
youth, and the trust a good will has in powers of good.

She was looking at those coots, who were full of an idea that the winter
had spent itself in that east wind, that the gloss of spring plumage
must be now upon their necks, and that they felt their toes growing
warmer toward the downy tepefaction of a perfect nest. Improving a long
and kind acquaintance with these birds, some of whom have confidence in
human nature, Mary was beginning to be absent from her woes, and joyful
in the pleasure of a thoughtless pair, when suddenly, with one accord,
they dived, and left a bright splash and a wrinkle. "Somebody is coming;
they must have seen an enemy," said the damsel to herself. "I am sure
I never moved. I will never have them shot by any wicked poacher." To
watch the bank nicely, without being seen, she drew in her skirt and
shrank behind the tree, not from any fear, but just to catch the fellow;
for one of the laborers on the farm, who had run at his master with
a pitchfork once, was shrewdly suspected of