It was one of those little mountain-brooks which roll their limpid waters over silver sands; hurl by through whispering ledges, the resort of snipe and woodcock; or, varying this quiet and serene existence with occasional action, dart between abrupt banks over mossy rocks, laughing as they fly onward to the open sunlight.

The spot which the party had reached, united these characteristics mentioned.

A path led to a mossy log, stretched from bank to bank, some feet above the water—­a log which had answered the purpose of a bridge for a long time, it seemed; for both ends were buried in the sward and the flowers which decorated it.

Below this, the limpid stream wound over bright sands and pebbles, which glittered in the ripples like diamonds.

“Now!” cried Ralph, “here is a pretty pass!  How are these delightful young ladies to get over, Verty?”

“I don’t know—­I suppose they will walk,” observed Verty, simply.

“Walk!”

“Yes.”

“What! when that very dog there had to balance himself in traversing the log?”

“Who, Longears?”

“Yes, Longears.”

“He’s not used to logs,” said Verty, smiling, and shaking his head; “he generally jumps the streams, like Cloud.”

“Oh! you need’nt be afraid,” here interrupted Redbud, smiling, and passing before Fanny quickly; “we can get over easily enough.”

The explanation of which movement was, that Miss Redbud saw the lurking mischief in Mr. Ralph’s eyes, and wished at least to protect herself.

“Easy enough!” cried Ralph, moving forward quickly.

“Yes; look!”

And with the assistance of Verty, who held one of her hands, Redbud essayed to pass the bridge.

The moss rendered it slippery, and near the middle she almost fell into the stream; with Verty’s aid, however, the passage was safely effected.

“There!” said Redbud, smiling, “you see I was right, Mr. Ashley—­was I not?”

“You always are!”

“And me, sir?” said Fanny, approaching the bridge with perfect carelessness.

“You are nearly always wrong, my life’s darling,” observed Mr. Ralph.

“You are too bad, Ralph!  I’ll get angry!”

“At what?”

“At your impertinence!”

“I was not impertinent.”

“You were.”

“I was right.”

“You were not.”

“And the proof is, that you are going to do something wrong now,” said
Ralph, laughing.

“What, sir?”

“I mean, you think you are going to?”

“What! for goodness gracious sake!”

“Cross that log!”

“I certainly am going to,” said Fanny, putting her foot upon it.

“You certainly are not.”

“Who will prevent me?”

“I will, my heart’s dear,” said Ralph, snatching Miss Fanny up in his arms, and rapidly passing across with his burden; “nothing easier!  By Jove, there goes your slipper!”