But Miss Nellie's thin, cold nostrils refused to take that vulgar
interest.

"Nor hear it? Listen!"

"You forget I suffer the misfortune of having been brought up under a
roof," she replied coldly.

"That's true," repeated Low, in all seriousness; "it's not your fault.
But do you know, I sometimes think I am peculiarly sensitive to water; I
feel it miles away. At night, though I may not see it or even know where
it is, I am conscious of it. It is company to me when I am alone, and
I seem to hear it in my dreams. There is no music as sweet to me as
its song. When you sang with me that day in church, I seemed to hear it
ripple in your voice. It says to me more than the birds do, more than
the rarest plants I find. It seems to live with me and for me. It is my
earliest recollection; I know it will be my last, for I shall die in its
embrace. Do you think, Nellie," he continued, stopping short and gazing
earnestly in her face--"do you think that the chiefs knew this when they
called me 'Sleeping Water'?"

To Miss Nellie's several gifts I fear the gods had not added poetry. A
slight knowledge of English verse of a select character, unfortunately,
did not assist her in the interpretation of the young man's speech, nor
relieve her from the momentary feeling that he was at times deficient
in intellect. She preferred, however, to take a personal view of the
question, and expressed her sarcastic regret that she had not known
before that she had been indebted to the great flume and ditch at
Excelsior for the pleasure of his acquaintance. This pert remark
occasioned some explanation, which ended in the girl's accepting a kiss