"There," he said, "see how long those ripples last, and how numerous they are." Owen understood him.

"Poor Williams! What a gleam of new hope there was in him after Russell's death!" "Yes, for a time," said Montagu; "heigh ho! I fear we shall never be warm friends again.

We can't be while he goes on as he is doing.

And yet I love him." A sudden turn of the stream brought them to the place called Riverbend.
"If you want a practical comment on what we've been talking about, you'll see it there," said Montagu.
He pointed to a party of boys, four or five, all lying on a pleasant grass bank, smoking pipes.

Prominent among them was Eric, stretched at ease, and looking up at the clouds, towards which curled the puffed fumes of his meerschaum--a gift of Wildney's.