"We follow this all the way," said Indiana, pointing to the narrow stream on whose banks they were driving.
"Charming to hear, that delightful gurgle. I am so fond of the sound of water!"
"A very narrow path," said Lord Stafford, peering over the banks. "One lurch to the right, and we're over."
"The banks are propped with logs," explained Mrs. Bunker. "That is done every spring. The force of the water in winter breaks them down. They're none too safe now, I believe. But Indiana would take this old road!"
"I am so glad you did," murmured Lord Canning. "The continuous perspective of this winding stream is charming."
As they drove on they were surprised now and then by little green islands, very small, sometimes merely clumps of trees.
"Mysterious little islands," said Lord Canning. "So lonely, set here and there in the stream, like little green shrines, for those who wish to pray."
"You have more imagination than many would credit you with, Lord Canning."
"I am not understood by many—I would not care to be—"
"Do be careful, Indiana," said Mrs. Stillwater, as they bounded over a frail bridge built on logs.