hers and here the water spilled over and trickled down. And this is
the song the water sang then:

"I bubble up so cool
Into the pebbly pool.
Over the edge I spill
And gallop down the hill!"

So the water became a little stream and began its long journey to the
little boy's tub. And always it wanted to run down--always down, and as
it ran, it tinkled this song:

"I sing, I run,
In the shade, in the sun,
It's always fun
To sing and to run."

Sometimes it pushed under twigs and leaves; sometimes it made a big
noise tumbling over the roots of trees; sometimes it flowed all quiet
and slow through long grasses in a meadow. Once it came to the edge of a
pretty big rock and over it went, splashing and crashing and dashing and
making a fine, fine spray.

It sang to the little birds that took their baths in the spray. And the
little birds ruffled their feathers to get dry and sang back to the
little brook. "Ching-a-ree!" they sang. It sang to the bunny rabbit who
got his whiskers all wet when he took a drink. It sang to the mother
deer who always came to the same place and licked up some water with her
tongue. To all of these and many more little wild wood things the little
brook rippled its song:

"I sing, I run,
In the shade, in the sun,
It's always fun
To sing and to run."

But to the fish in the big dark pool under the rocks it sang so softly,
so quietly, that only the fishes heard.

Now all the time that the little brook kept running down hill, it kept
getting bigger. For every once in a while it would be joined by another
little brook coming from another hillside spring. And, of course, the
two of them were twice as large as each had been alone. This kept
happening until the stream was a small river,--so big and deep that the
horses couldn't ford it any more. Then people built bridges over it,
and this made the small river feel proud. Little boats sailed in it
too,--canoes and sail boats and row boats. Sometimes they held a lot
of little boys without any clothes on who jumped into the water and
splashed and laughed and splashed and laughed.

At last the river was strong enough to carry great gliding boats, with
deep deep voices. "Toot," said the boats, "tootoot-tooooooooot!"

And now the song of the river was low and slow as it answered the song
of the boats:

"I grow and I flow
As I carry the boats,
As I carry the boats of men."