"Nor could I," said the squirrel. "After you shot the—I mean after the unfortunate business with the thrush, he kept out of the way, knowing that you had vowed vengeance against him, and although I go about a good deal, and peep into so many odd corners, I could not discover his whereabouts, till the little tree-climber told me. You know the tree-climber, dear, you have seen him in your orchard at home; he goes all round and round the trees, and listens at every chink, and so he learns almost all the secrets. He heard the weasel in the elm, and came at once and told me. Here is the timber, and there is the dragon-fly. Good-afternoon, Bevis dear; come to-morrow, and you shall hear the peewit's news, and be sure and not forget to put the right foot out of bed first in the morning." Bevis kissed his hand to the squirrel, and went home with the dragon-fly.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE EMPEROR CHOO HOO.
When he woke next morning, Bevis quite forgot what the squirrel had told him; he jumped out of bed without thinking, and his right foot touched the floor first, and led him to the window. From the window he saw the brook, and recollected that the brook had promised to tell him what he was singing, so as soon as ever he could get out of doors away he went through the gateway the grasshopper had shown him, and down to the hatch. Instead of coming quietly on tip-toe, as the brook had told him, he danced up, and the kingfisher heard him, and went off as before, whistling: "Weep, weep". Bevis stood on the brink and said: "Brook, Brook, what are you singing? You promised to tell me what you were saying."
The brook did not answer, but went on singing. Bevis listened a minute, and then he picked a willow leaf and threw it into the bubbles, and watched it go whirling round and round in the eddies, and back up under the fall, where it dived down, and presently came up again, and the stream took it and carried it away past the flags. "Brook, Brook," said Bevis, stamping his foot, "tell me what you are singing."
And the brook, having now finished that part of his song, said: "Bevis dear, sit down in the shadow of the willow, for it is very hot to-day, and the reapers are at work; sit down under the willow, and I will tell you as much as I can remember."
"But the reed said you could not remember anything," said Bevis, leaning back against the willow.
"The reed did not tell you the truth, dear; indeed, he does not know all; the fact is, the reeds are so fond of talking that I scarcely ever answer them now, or they would keep on all day long, and I should never hear the sound of my own voice, which I like best. So I do not encourage them, and that is why the reeds think I do not recollect."
"And what is that you sing about?" said Bevis, impatiently.