GEORGE did not continue reading after his wife had made her way to the water’s edge, some few yards distant. She was soon busily engaged dabbling her hands in the clear water, so much occupied as to be for the time oblivious of her fair surroundings. Yet they were very beautiful. Leo had betaken himself to a steep, rounded bill on the other side of the valley, where he could be seen, vigorously ascending. George would have liked to perform that ascent himself; but he knew that the climb would be quite beyond Dulcie’s limited powers, and that she would not be happy to remain behind. So he kept his seat, giving himself up to a dreamy enjoyment which was after all quite as much in his line as the more active enjoyment of bodily exercise. George Rutherford was a many-sided individual. A scene lay around well worth attention. The river-bed showed golden tintings, and green reflections from the opposite bank danced on the ripples. Facing him were three hills, rising like great rounded billows across the valley. The church, built of whitish-gray stone, with low, square tower and slated roof, stood on a low level, almost at the bottom of the valley, and quite at its centre, just between the “Castle Hill,” which Leo was climbing, and George’s own position. Other hills filled up the landscape, clothed in foliage, and trees grew abundantly all along the course of the little babbling river. Glows of sunshine came and went, with shady intervals between. The calm, soft repose of the valley might well strike home to any heart. Dulcie was not greatly affected by aspects of nature; but the calm and sweetness sank deep into George Rutherford’s heart. She was only “a few yards off, keeping up a little chatter, something like the pretty babble of the water; and George was lost in thought, quite unconscious of what she said, or of whether she said anything. He woke up at length, to find her laughing at him. “Why, Georgie, what are you thinking about?” she cried. “Time for us to be moving,” George said, standing up. “That boy ought to come back. How do you like my valley, Dulcie?” “Too much shut in,” said Dulcibel promptly. “But it is pretty—and the river is nice. I wish the poor in our towns could have such a water supply. There comes Leo. Oh, we are not going back yet, Georgie! No use to think of being in time for lunch, so we’ll just eat my sandwiches here. I wish we had a bottle or two of soda-water.” Dreamy enjoyment was over, and an hour of merriment ensued, Dulcie being in high spirits, and allowing no time for enjoyment of reposeful nature. Then at length she consented to a move, and a sigh broke from her as to “that horrid bridge.” “I see!” George began. “Yes; I’ve been putting it off as long as possible; but I suppose we must!” and Dulcie sighed again. “I shall never come to your valley a second time, Georgie. Horrid place! I can’t endure that bridge. Is there really no other way out?”