The little river, as blue as ever, and shrinking from all thoughts of wrath, showed nothing in its pure gaze now but a gladness to refresh and cool.

In many nicely sheltered corners it was full of soft reflection as to the good it had to do; and then, in silver and golden runnels, on it went to do it.

And the happy voice and many sweetly flashing little glances told that it knew of the lovely lives beside it, created and comforted by itself.
But I looked at the dark ruin it had wrought, and like a child I was angry with it for the sake of Uncle Sam.

Only the foundations and the big heavy stones of the mill were left, and the clear bright water purled around, or made little eddies among them.

All were touched with silvery sound, and soft caressing dimples.