And as for pure water being life to human beings:  why have we never fever here, and scarcely ever diseases like fever—­zymotics, as the doctors call them?  Or, if a case comes into our parish from outside, why does the fever never spread?  For the very same reason that we had no cattle-plague.  Because we have more pure water close to every cottage than we need.  And this I tell you:  that the only two outbreaks of deadly disease which we have had here for thirty years, were both of them, as far as I could see, to be traced to filthy water having got into the poor folk’s wells.  Water, you must remember, just as it is life when pure, is death when foul.  For it can carry, unseen to the eye, and even when it looks clear and sparkling, and tastes soft and sweet, poisons which have perhaps killed more human beings than ever were killed in battle.  You have read, perhaps, how the Athenians, when they were dying of the plague, accused the Lacedaemonians outside the walls of poisoning their wells; or how, in some of the pestilences of the middle ages, the common people used to accuse the poor harmless Jews of poisoning the wells, and set upon them and murdered them horribly.  They were right, I do not doubt, in their notion that the well-water was giving them the pestilence:  but they had not sense to see that they were poisoning the wells themselves by their dirt and carelessness; or, in the case of poor besieged Athens, probably by mere overcrowding, which has cost many a life ere now, and will cost more.  And I am sorry to tell you, my little man, that even now too many people have no more sense than they had, and die in consequence.  If you could see a battle-field, and men shot down, writhing and dying in hundreds by shell and bullet, would not that seem to you a horrid sight?  Then—­I do not wish to make you sad too early, but this is a fact which everyone should know—­that more people, and not strong men only, but women and little children too, are killed and wounded in Great Britain every year by bad water and want of water together, than were killed and wounded in any battle which has been fought since you were born.  Medical men know this well.  And when you are older, you may see it for yourself in the Registrar-General’s reports, blue-books, pamphlets, and so on, without end.

But why do not people stop such a horrible loss of life?

Well, my dear boy, the true causes of it have only been known for the last thirty or forty years; and we English are, as good King Alfred found us to his sorrow a thousand years ago, very slow to move, even when we see a thing ought to be done.  Let us hope that in this matter—­we have been so in most matters as yet—­we shall be like the tortoise in the fable, and not the hare; and by moving slowly, but surely, win the race at last.  But now think for yourself:  and see what you would do to save these people from being poisoned by bad water.  Remember that the plain question is this—­The rainwater comes down from heaven as water, and nothing but water.  Rainwater is the only pure water, after all.  How would you save that for the poor people who have none?  There; run away and hunt rabbits on the moor:  but look, meanwhile, how you would save some of this beautiful and precious water which is roaring away into the sea.