"Oh, and I hear the grass whispering," said Lizbeth.
"And oh, a bee," you cried.
"And something else," said Father.
You held your breath and listened. From the distant village the wind blew you faintly the sound of—
"Church-bells," cried you and Lizbeth together.
You fell to playing in the long grass. Lizbeth gathered daisies for Mother. You lay with your face just over the river-bank, humming a little song and gazing down into the mirror of the waters. You wondered how it would feel to be a little boy-fish, darting in and out among the river grasses.
By-and-by you went back to Father and sat beside him with your cheek against his arm.
"Father."
"Yes."
"What do you think when you don't say anything, but just look?"