A thought struck me. "John, hand me the stick and I'll give you your
first writing lesson."

So there, on the smooth gravel, and with the rose-stem for a pen, I
taught him how to form the letters of the alphabet and join them
together. He learned them very quickly--so quickly, that in a little
while the simple copy-book that Mother Earth obliged us with was
covered in all directions with "J O H N--John."

"Bravo!" he cried, as we turned homeward, he flourishing his gigantic
pen, which had done such good service; "bravo! I have gained
something to-day!"

Crossing the bridge over the Avon, we stood once more to look at the
waters that were "out." They had risen considerably, even in that
short time, and were now pouring in several new channels, one of
which was alongside of the high road; we stopped a good while
watching it. The current was harmless enough, merely flooding a part
of the Ham; but it awed us to see the fierce power of waters let
loose. An old willow-tree, about whose roots I had often watched the
king-cups growing, was now in the centre of a stream as broad as the
Avon by our tan-yard, and thrice as rapid. The torrent rushed round
it--impatient of the divisions its great roots caused--eager to
undermine and tear it up. Inevitably, if the flood did not abate,
within a few hours more there would be nothing left of the fine old
tree.

"I don't quite like this," said John, meditatively, as his quick eye
swept down the course of the river, with the houses and wharves that
abutted on it, all along one bank. "Did you ever see the waters thus