low wall that bounded the garden, and this stream had more attractions
for Sydney than anything else about the holiday home.

It was not for its cool murmuring sound that Sydney liked it, nor for
its crystal clearness--though he must have felt the charm of all this
during those hot August days. He had found a beautiful place where he
could put a water-wheel, and he was as busy as he could be planning
and making one. He had his little box of tools with him, and it was
easy to get pieces of wood; and for the rest Sydney's cleverness in
"making things" was well known to his sisters and brother, and held in
great reverence by them. They never "meddled," and so were graciously
allowed to come and admire.

"O, bother!" exclaimed Sydney, "here's this little plague! You can't
come here, Walter," he called out. "Go back to the garden and play
there."

But little Walter had already climbed over the loose stones and was
running towards the stream.

Sydney jumped up from the ground and went to meet him.

"Did you hear, Walter?" said he; "go back and play. I don't want you
here."

"O, _please_, Sydney," said a pleading voice, as a pair of childish
blue eyes were lifted up to the face of the elder boy, "I _do_ want to
see the water-mill! I won't touch it--I promise."

"You won't get the chance," said Sydney roughly. "Just you go back