Clara stood at the gate for a long time watching them along the
straight, white road. They came to the top of the hill; she could
just discern them against the sky; they passed over the ridge and she
went indoors. In the evening a friend called to see Mrs Caffyn, and
Clara went to the stone bridge which she had visited on Saturday.
The water on the upper side of the bridge was dammed up and fell over
the little sluice gates under the arches into a clear and deep basin
about forty or fifty feet in diameter. The river, for some reason of
its own, had bitten into the western bank, and had scooped out a
great piece of it into an island. The main current went round the
island with a shallow, swift ripple, instead of going through the
pool, as it might have done, for there was a clear channel for it.
The centre and the region under the island were deep and still, but
at the farther end, where the river in passing called to the pool, it
broke into waves as it answered the appeal, and added its own
contribution to the stream, which went away down to the mill and
onwards to the big Thames. On the island were aspens and alders.
The floods had loosened the roots of the largest tree, and it hung
over heavily in the direction in which it had yielded to the rush of
the torrent, but it still held its grip, and the sap had not forsaken
a single branch. Every one was as dense with foliage as if there had
been no struggle for life, and the leaves sang their sweet song, just
perceptible for a moment every now and then in the variations of the
louder music below them.
Pages:
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196