"But the reed said you could not remember anything," said Bevis, leaning
back against the willow.

"The reed did not tell you the truth, dear; indeed, he does not know
all; the fact is, the reeds are so fond of talking that I scarcely ever
answer them now, or they would keep on all day long, and I should never
hear the sound of my own voice, which I like best. So I do not encourage
them, and that is why the reeds think I do not recollect."

"And what is that you sing about?" said Bevis, impatiently.

"My darling," said the brook, "I do not know myself always what I am
singing about. I am so happy I sing, sing, and never think about what it
means; it does not matter what you mean as long as you sing. Sometimes I
sing about the sun, who loves me dearly, and tries all day to get at me
through the leaves and the green flags that hide me; he sparkles on me
everywhere he can, and does not like me to be in the shadow. Sometimes I
sing to the wind, who loves me next most dearly, and will come to me
everywhere, in places where the sun cannot get. He plays with me
whenever he can, and strokes me softly, and tells me the things he has
heard in the woods and on the hills, and sends down the leaves to float
along, for he knows I like something to carry. Fling me in some leaves,
Bevis dear.

"Sometimes I sing to the earth and the grass; they are fond of me too,
and listen the best of all. I sing loudest at night, to the stars, for
they are so far away they would not otherwise hear me."

"But what do you say?" said Bevis; but the brook was too occupied now to
heed him, and went on.

"Sometimes I sing to the trees; they, too, are fond of me, and come as
near as they can; they would all come down close to me if they could.
They love me like the rest, because I am so happy, and never cease my
chanting. If I am broken to pieces against a stone, I do not mind in the
least; I laugh just the same, and even louder. When I come over the
hatch, I dash myself to fragments; and sometimes a rainbow comes and
stays a little while with me. The trees drink me, and the grass drinks
me, the birds come down and drink me; they splash me, and are happy. The
fishes swim about, and some of them hide in deep corners. Round the bend
I go, and the osiers say they never have enough of me. The long grass
waves and welcomes me; the moor-hens float with me; the kingfisher is
always with me somewhere, and sits on the bough to see his ruddy breast
in the w