Reserve is
Life."
"Thank goodness!" said the Black Rat. "Then they can return to their
native ditches."
"Ditches!" cried the Waters; "Raven's Gill Brook is no ditch. It is almost
navigable, and _we_ come from there away." They slid over solid and
compact till the Wheel thudded under their weight.
"Raven's Gill Brook," said the Rat. "_I_ never heard of Raven's Gill."
"We are the waters of Harpenden Brook--down from under Callton Rise. Phew!
how the race stinks compared with the heather country." Another five foot
of water flung itself against the Wheel, broke, roared, gurgled, and was
gone.
"Indeed," said the Grey Cat, "I am sorry to tell you that Raven's Gill
Brook is cut off from this valley by an absolutely impassable range of
mountains, and Callton Rise is more than nine miles away. It belongs to
another system entirely."
"Ah yes," said the Rat, grinning, "but we forget that, for the young,
water always runs uphill."
"Oh, hopeless! hopeless! hopeless!" cried the Waters, descending open-
palmed upon the Wheel "There is nothing between here and Raven's Gill
Brook that a hundred yards of channelling and a few square feet of
concrete could not remove; and hasn't removed!"
"And Harpenden Brook is north of Raven's Gill and runs into Raven's Gill
at the foot of Callton Rise, where ilex trees are, and _we_ come from
there!" These were the glassy, clear waters of the high chalk.
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