“It can’t be all that the cow drinks that makes the difference,” said Colin to himself. “The pigs don’t care about it. I do believe it’s affronted at being dashed about. The cow isn’t dirty, but she’s rather stupid and inconsiderate. The pigs are dirty. Something must be done. Let me see.”
He reconnoitred the whole ground. Upon the other side of the house all was rock, through which he could not cut; and he was forced to the conclusion that the only other course for the stream to take lay right through the cottage.
To most engineers this would have appeared the one course to be avoided; but Colin’s heart danced at the thought of having his dear burn running right through the house. How cool it would be all the summer! How convenient for cooking; and how handy at meals! And then the music of it! How it would tell him stories, and sing him to sleep at night! What a companion it would be when his father was away! And then he could bathe in it when he liked. In winter—ah!—to be sure! But winter was a long way off.
The very next day his father went to the fair. So Colin set to work at once.
It was not such a very difficult undertaking; for the walls of the cottage, and the floor as well, were of clay—the former nearly sun-dried into a brick, and the latter trampled hard; but still both assailable by pickaxe and spade. He cut through the walls, and dug a channel along the floor, letting in stones in the bottom and sides. After it got out of the cottage and through the small garden in front, it should find its own way to the channel below, for here the hill was very steep.
The same evening his father came home.
“What have you been about, Colin?” he asked, in great surprise, when he saw the trench in the floor.
“Wait a minute, father,” said Colin, “till I have got your supper, and then I’ll tell you.”
So when his father was seated at the table, Colin darted out, and hurrying up to the stream, broke through the bank just in the place whence a natural hollow led straight to the cottage. The stream dashed out like a wild creature from a cage, faster than he could follow, and shot through the wall of the cottage. His father gave a shout; and when Colin went in, he found him sitting with his spoon halfway to his mouth, and his eyes fixed on the muddy water which rushed foaming through his floor.
“It will soon be clean, father,” said Colin, “and then it will be so nice!”
His father made no answer, but continued staring.
Colin went on with a long list of the advantages of having a brook running through your house. At length his father smiled and said:—
“You are a curious creature, Colin. But why shouldn’t you have your fancies as well as older people? We’ll try it awhile, and then we’ll see about it.”
The fact was, Colin’s father had often thought what a lonely life the boy’s was. And it seemed hard to take from him any pleasure he could have. So out rushed Colin at the front, to see how the brook would take the shortest way headlong down the hill to its old channel. And to see it go tumbling down that hill was a sight worth living for.
“It is a mercy,” said Colin, “it has no neck to break or it would break twenty times in a minute. It flings itself from rock to rock right down, just as I should like to do, if it weren’t for my neck.”
All that evening he was out and in without a moment’s rest; now up to the beginning of the cut, now following the stream down to the cottage; then through the cottage, and out again at the front door to see it dart across the garden, and dash itself down the hill.
At length his father told him he must go to bed. He took one more peep at the water which was running quite clear now, and obeyed. His father followed him presently.
II
The Fairy Fleet
The bed was about a couple of yards from the edge of the brook. And as Colin was always first up in the morning, he slept at the front of the bed. So he lay for some time gazing at the faint glimmer of the water in the dull red light from the sod-covered fire, and listening to its sweet music as it hurried through to the night again, till its murmur changed into a lullaby, and sung him fast asleep.
Soon he found that he was coming awake again. He was lying listening to the sound of the busy stream. But it had gathered more sounds since he went to sleep—amongst the rest, one of boards knocking together, and a tiny chattering and sweet laughter, like the tinkling of heather-bells. He opened his eyes. The moon was shining along the brook, lighting the smoky rafters above with its reflection from the water, which had been dammed back at its outlet from the cottage, so that it lay bank-full and level with the floor. But its surface was hardly to be seen, save by an occasional glimmer, for the crowded boats of a fairy fleet which had just arrived. The sailors were as busy as sailors could be, mooring along the banks, or running their boats high and dry on the shore. Some had little sails which glimmered white in the moonshine—half-lowered, or blowing out in the light breeze that crept down
