And Come-Back saw the action reflected in the stream below.
"Aw--thank you, my dear," he said, fastening the forget-me-not into
his Sunday coat, "but I ought not to take it all. It's yours." The
voice had a quiet, almost distant sound in it.
"Ours," Maria murmured to herself, addressing the faces in the water.
She took the fragment Stumper handed back to her. All three,
forgetting it was time for lunch, forgetting they were hungry,
forgetting that there was still half a mile of lane between them and
the house, gazed down at their reflections in the stream as though
fascinated. Uncle Felix certainly felt the watery-enchantment in his
soul. The reflections trembled and quivered, yet did not pass away.
The stream flowed hurrying by them, yet still was always there. It
gave him a strange, familiar feeling--something he knew, but had
forgotten. Everything in life was passing, yet nothing went--there was
no hurry. The rippling music, as the water washed the banks and made
the grasses swish, was audible, and there was a deeper sound of
swirling round the wooden posts that held the bridge secure. Bubbles
rose and burst in spray.
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