“I am so glad he has come, Polly,” ejaculated Phronsie in relief.
“The Silly Little Brook at that opened her eyes. ‘What is it?’ she asked sadly.
“‘Don’t you know why the birds are flying over your head, to seek other streams, without so much as giving you a gentle word,—and no one remains to tell you the truth but me?’ asked Robin.
“‘No, I don’t!’ said the Silly Little Brook; ‘tell me, Robin.’
“‘Look for yourself,’ said Robin Redbreast.
“So the Silly Little Brook turned her eyes to look at herself in the little hollow where she had rested, and lo and behold, instead of the clear, white water with the shade just like the violets in our woods at Badgertown, you know, Phronsie,” and Polly’s hands with their work dropped to her lap, “why”—
“Yes, yes, I know,” said Phronsie with a small sigh, hearing which, Polly picked up her work again and hurried on.
“Why, there was a dark, dirty pool of water with a little green scum coming all over the top of it.
“‘Oh, Horrors!’ screamed the Silly Little Brook, ‘why, where have I gone? That isn’t my little Brook.’
“‘Yes it is,’ said Robin, shaking his head sadly; ‘you’re turned into this hateful thing because you staid still. O dear Brook! why didn’t you obey the good Sun, and go on?’