ater. And you come too, Bevis, now and then to listen to me; and
it is all because I am so happy."

"Why are you so happy?" said Bevis.

"I do not know," said the brook. "Perhaps it is because all I think of
is this minute; I do not know anything about the minute just gone by,
and I do not care one bit about the minute that is just coming; all I
care about is this minute, this very minute now. Fling me in some more
leaves, Bevis. Why do you go about asking questions, dear? Why don't you
sing, and do nothing else?"

"Oh, but I want to know all about everything," said Bevis. "Where did
you come from, and where are you going, and why don't you go on and let
the ground be dry--why don't you run on, and run all away? Why are you
always here?"

The brook laughed, and said: "My dear, I do not know where I came from,
and I do not care at all where I am going. What does it matter, my love?
All I know is I shall come back again; yes, I shall come back again."
The brook sang very low, and rather sadly now: "I shall go into the sea,
and shall be lost; and even you would not know me--ask your father,
love, he has sailed over the sea in the ships that come to Southampton,
and I was close to him, but he did not know me. But by-and-by, when I am
in the sea, the sun will lift me up, and the clouds will float
along--look towards the hills, Bevis dear, every morning, and you will
see the clouds coming and bringing me with them; and the rain and the
dew, and sometimes the thunder and the lightning, will put me down
again, and I shall run along here and sing to you, my sweet, if you will
come and listen. Fling in some little twigs, my dear, and some bits of
bark from the tree."

Then the brook sang very low and very sad, and said: "I shall come back
again, Bevis; I always come back, and I am always happy; and yet I do
not know either if I am really happy when I am singing so joyously.
Bevis dear, try and think and tell me. Am I really happy, Bevis? Tell
me, dear; you can see the sun sparkling on me, and the wind stroking me,
just as he strokes your hair (he told me he was very fond of you, and
meant to tell you a story some day), and the reeds whispering, and the
willows drooping over me, and the bright kingfisher; you can hear me
singing, Bevis, now am I happy?"

"I do not know," said Bevis; "sometimes you sound very happy, but just
now you sound very sad. Stop a little while and think about it."

"Oh, no, Bevis; I cannot stop, I m