Florien suppressed a rising smile; for he thought to himself, “_She_ will know _my_ workmanship, as easily as she could distinguish my fairy romanzas from your Samson solos.” But he replied, right cordially, “Honestly and truly, Pierre, I think we are as mechanicians very nearly equal in skill. But let us both tax our ingenuity to invent something which will best please Rosabella, Her birth-day comes in about six months. In honor of the occasion, I will make some ornaments for the little arbor facing the brook, where she loves to sit, in pleasant weather, and read to the good old grandfather.” “I will do the same,” answered Pierre; “only let both our ornaments be machines.” They clasped hands, and looking frankly into each other’s eyes, ratified the agreement. From that hour, they spoke no more to each other on the subject till the long-anticipated day arrived. The old watch-maker and his grandchild were invited to the arbor, to pass judgment on the productions of his pupils. A screen was placed before a portion of the brook, and they sat quietly waiting for it to be removed. “That duck is of a singular color,” exclaimed the young girl. “What a solemn looking fellow he is!” The bird, without paying any attention to her remarks, waddled into the water, drank, lifted up his bill to the sky, as if giving thanks for his refreshment, flapped his wings, floated to the edge of the brook, and waddled on the grass again. When Father Breguet threw some crumbs of cake on the ground, the duck picked them up with apparent satisfaction. He was about to scatter more crumbs, when Rosabella exclaimed, “Why, grandfather, this is not a duck! It is made of bronze. See how well it is done.” The old man took it up and examined it. “Really, I do not think any thing could be more perfect than this,” he said. “How exquisitely the feathers are carved! and truly the creature seems alive. He who beats this must be a skilful mechanician.” At these words, Pierre and Florien stepped forward, hand in hand, and bowing to their master, removed the temporary screen. On a black marble pedestal in the brook was seated a bronze Naiad, leaning on an overflowing vase. The figure was inexpressibly graceful; a silver star with brilliant points gleamed on her forehead, and in her hand she held a silver bell, beautifully inlaid with gold and steel. There was a smile about her mouth, and she leaned over, as if watching for something in a little cascade which flowed down a channel in the pedestal. Presently, she raised her hand and sounded the bell. A beautiful little gold fish obeyed the summons, and glided down the channel, his burnished sides glittering in the sun. Eleven times more she rang the bell, and each time the gold fish darted forth. It was exactly noon, and the water-nymph was a clock.