een rain up in the
mountains last night," remarked Ulyth. "What do you think of it, Rona?"

"It's a champion! I'm going to climb down there and get at the edge."

"No, you won't!" said Miss Moseley sharply. "Nobody is to go a single
step nearer. You must all come back into the lane now, and get on with
blackberry-picking. Your baskets are only half full yet."

Very reluctantly the girls followed. The fall exercised a fascination
over them, and they could have stayed half an hour watching its white
swirl. They did not wish, however, to earn the reputation of slackers.
Two other parties had gone out blackberrying that afternoon, and there
would be keen competition as to which would bring back the most pounds.
They set to work again, therefore, with enthusiasm, counting stained
fingers and scratches as glorious wounds earned in the good cause. Rona
picked with zeal, but she had a preoccupied look on her face.

"Say, I liked that waterfall," she remarked to Ulyth. "One can't see
anything of it down in this old lane. I'm going to get a better view."

"You mustn't go off on your own," commanded Ulyth. "Miss Moseley will
report you if you do!"

"Don't excite yourself. I only said I was going to get a better view.
It's quite easy."

Rona put her basket in a safe place, and with the aid of a hazel bush
climbed to the top of the wall. Apparently the prospect did not satisfy
her.

"I'm going a stave higher still. Keep your hair on!" she shouted down to
Ulyth, and began swarming up the bole of a huge old oak-tree that
abutted on the wall. She was strong and active as a boy, and had soon
scrambled to where the branches forked. A mass of twisted ivy hung here,
and raising herself with its aid, she stood on an outstretched bough.

"It's ripping! I can see a little bit of the fall; I'll see it better if
I get over on to that other branch."

"Take care!" called Miss Moseley from below.

Rona started. She had not known the mistress was so near. The movement
upset her decidedly unstable balance; she clutched hard at the ivy, but
it gave way in her fingers; there was a sudden crash and a smothered
shriek.

White as a ghost, Miss Moseley climbed the wall, expecting to find the
prostrate form of her pupil on the other side. To her surprise she saw
nothing of the sort. Near at hand, however, came a stifled groan.

"Rona, where are you?" shrieked the distracted governess.

"Here," spluttered the voice of the Cuckoo; "inside the