catch the Weasel outside my copse, and then you

may shoot him as much as you like."

Very well," said Bevis, rather sulkily, "I will not shoot him in the hole if you do not want me to. But how could the Weasel have been in the elm all the time, when the Humble-bee said he found him lying in the sunshine on a bank licking his paw?”

'Why, of course he told the Humble-bee to say

that."

"What a cheater he is, isn't he?" said Bevis. "And how did you find out where he lived? I looked everywhere for him, and so did Pan-Pan sniffed and sniffed, but could not find him."

"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 it that you sing about?" said Bevis, impatiently.

"My darling," said the Brook, "I do not know

myself always what I am singing about. I am SO happy I sing, sing, and never think about what it means; it does not matter what you mean as long as you sing. Sometimes I sing about the sun, who loves me dearly, and tries all day to get at me through the leaves and the green flags that hide me; he sparkles on me everywhere he can, and does not like me to be in the shadow. Sometimes I sing to the Wind, who loves me next most dearly, and will come to me everywhere, in places where the sun cannot get. He plays with me whenever he can, and strokes me softly, and tells me the things he has heard in the woods and on the hills, and sends down the leaves to float along, for he knows I like something to carry. Fling me in some leaves, Bevis, dear.

"Sometimes I sing to the earth and the grass; they are fond of me, too, and listen the best of all. I sing loudest at night, to the stars, for they are so far away they would not otherwise hear me."

"But what do you say?" said Bevis; but the Brook was too occupied now to heed him, and went

on.

"Sometimes I sing to the trees; they, too, are fond of me, and come as near as they can; they