dismayed to find
that only fifteen minutes had passed away. Fifteen! and there still
remained forty-five before her companions were likely to arrive! What
could she find to do to while away a whole forty-five minutes? As a
matter of prudence Darsie put the suggestion of the fruit garden
resolutely aside. It would not be _safe_ to put herself in proximity
with those tempting strawberries, since on a second visit to a house one
was, unfortunately, not on sufficiently intimate terms to take without
being asked.

She was contemplating getting on her bicycle and taking a short ride
round the lanes, when the brilliant alternative of the river darted into
her mind. Of course, the river! Nothing could be more delightful. She
set off at a trot, taking in her inexperience many wrong turnings, but
arriving at last at the river, or rather the peaceful backwater of the
river which bordered the Percival grounds. To Darsie's mind the spot
was the most picturesque on the whole estate, and a good many people
could be found ready to agree with her in the conclusion; for the
backwater though narrow was bordered by banks rich in reeds and
bulrushes, while a hundred yards or so below the miniature jetty a pair
of ancient wooden gates spanned the stream, through whose decaying beams
could be seen fascinating peeps of a baby waterfall, and a great moss-
covered wheel which proclaimed the former use of the old grey building
of which it was a part. In olden times this quiet backwater had been a
busy centre of industry, but the modern inventions of machinery had left
it hopelessly in the rear. The mill-owner had been ruined long ago, and
the mill-house, with its great panelled rooms, was given up to the
occupancy of the rats, while the disused wheel was green with moss, and
the wooden gateway threatened every day to fall free of its hinges.

The young Percivals could not remember the day when the mill had been
working, but from a personal point of view they deeply regretted its
cessation, for, deprived of the healthy action of the wheel, the little
backwater was becoming every year more choked with weeds, until at some
points it was difficult to navigate the punt.

At long intervals strange men came to investigate the mill and its
machinery, and the Percivals were cheered by rumours of a certain "let,"
but as one rumour after another died away without bringing any tangible
result their hopes had reached a vanishing point, and they p