“One day when he is in good form you must make him tell you his adventures on a fishing expedition,” said Ben. “And some day you must ask him about his famous quarrel with the ear-trumpet lady, your only neighbour. He does just what he likes with us all, and we’re ridiculously fond of him. That is his place right over there, across the river. And now what do you think of the river? Stay, let me go first and test the way across the meadows, and you must follow exactly in my footsteps, and we will get up to the very bank of the torrent. Don’t choose your own path. The ground is fearfully soft, and you may be mired if you’re not careful. Would you rather not go?” “Indeed not,” she said eagerly; “I am ready for anything.” She had forgotten all her troubles and depression, and, buoyant with vitality and eagerness, followed after him, calling out sometimes when he looked back, “I’m all right, Mr. Overleigh.” At last they stood together by the side of the river, and were able to see the wholesale destruction which the storm had wrought. Three days ago there had been no water in the river; now there was a raging torrent, which was cutting down the banks, tearing up the trees, and bearing them away in fierce triumph. First the topmost branches of a fine sycamore shuddered slightly; then they trembled, and those who were watching them, knew that the tree was doomed. The roots cracked and groaned, and something snapped. And the tree fell. Perhaps there was a moment of resistance even then--but all in vain. The torrent rushed with redoubled fury on its victim, and whirled it away. [Illustration: “HILDA COULD NOT LEAVE THE SPOT.”] There is a sad fascination in watching such a scene as this. You feel you must wait to see whether that tree yonder will be spared. You do not think it possible that it too will yield to the enemy. The others went, but they were fragile and unstable. This one surely will have the strength to withstand all attacks. You watch, and you turn away perhaps to see the bank a few yards farther down, cave in and disappear; or it may be that you yourself have to step back and save yourself from slipping down with the ground which has given way. You hear a crash--and there is your tree fallen! You feel like holding out your arms to help a friend. You feel the despair of knowing that you cannot help. The torrent seizes your tree, attacks it with overwhelming force, and sweeps it onwards, onwards. And you linger there, remembering sadly that there is one tree less in a barren land, where every green branch is dearly prized; one tree less in that belt of green in the valley, so soothing and restful to the eye through all the months of the year.