ncheon in the creel which was
to contain the trout Brother Copas hoped to catch. He hoped to catch
a brace at least--one for his sick friend at home, the other to
replenish his own empty cupboard: for this excursion meant his
missing to attend at the kitchen and receive his daily dole.

There may have been thunder in the air. At any rate the fish refused
to feed; and after an hour's patient waiting for sign of a rise--
without which his angling would be but idle pains--Brother Copas
found a seat, and pulled out a book from his pocket, while Corona
wandered over the meadows in search of larks' nests. But this again
was pains thrown away; since, as Brother Copas afterwards explained,
in the first place the buttercups hid them, and, secondly, the nests
were not there!--the birds preferring the high chalky downs for their
nurseries. She knew, however, that along the ditches where the
willows grew, and the alder clumps, there must be scores of warblers
and other late-breeding birds; for walking here in the winter she had
marvelled at the number of nests laid bare by the falling leaves.
These warblers wait for the leaves to conceal their building, and
Winter will betray the deserted hiding-place. So Brother Copas had
told her, to himself repeating--

"_Cras amorum copulatrix inter umbras arborum
Inplicat casas virentes de flagello myrteo_...."

Corona found five of these nests, and studied them: flimsy things,
constructed of a few dried grasses, inwoven with horsehair and
cobwebs. Before next spring the rains would dissolve them and they
would disappear.

She returned with a huge posy of wild flowers and the information
that she, for her part, felt hungry as a hunter. . . . They disposed
themselves to eat.

"Do you know, Uncle Copas," she asked suddenly, "why I have dragged
you out here to-day?"

"Did I show myself so reluctant?" he protested; but she paid no heed
to this.

"It is because I came home here to England, to St. Hospital, just a
year ago this very afternoon. This is my Thanksgiving Day," added
Corona solemnly.

"I am afraid there is no turkey in the hamper," said Brother Copas,
pretending to search. "We must console ourselves by reflecting that
the bird is out of season."

"You didn't remember the date, Uncle Copas. Did you, now?"

"I did, though." Brother Copas gazed at the running water for a space
and then turned to her with a quick smile. "Why, child, _of course_
I did! . . .