Jill?—One looks quietly at some black thought or feeling that comes to one, and one can say:—Do not be disturbed; this is the torrent. While you can look at it and recognize it for what it is, it will not carry you away.—But you have no black thoughts, Jill.'
'Oh, haven't I, just! Little do you know me! I feel a perfect worm sometimes! Nicer to be a torrent than a worm! Where shall I see you to-morrow, Marthe?'
'Shall we meet on the island?' Marthe looked fondly at her, holding her by the hand. That poor woman, of whom I told you, is in bed with rheumatism, and I take her goat and kid down to the meadow every afternoon for her and bring them up again. The thickets of hawthorn and alder are what the mother goat loves.'
'Oh, that would be heavenly! I love that island. I shall always see you as I first did there, walking under the poplars with your cat in your arms—a much safer sort of cat, Marthe; though it isn't nearly so charming and amusing as the other one, I admit!—No;—I won't be uncharitable! Are you fond of watching birds? There were some lovely wagtails, the grey and yellow sort, when I was there that day. I never saw so many together before.'
'The bergeronnettes? Yes, I often see them. They have a note like the sound of water lapping on the stones. I am very fond of them; but there are many birds I know by sight and by their song, whose names I do not know.'
'I know all our English birds, but some of your
