Indeed there was little to remember it by--little to be told except that all the while the stream talked, the larks sang, and in the hollow of the hills three children were happy.

George landed half a dozen trout before lunch-time; but Taffy caught none, partly because he knew nothing about fishing, partly because the chatter of the stream set him telling tales to himself and he forgot the rod in his hand.

And Honoria, after hooking a tiny fish and throwing it back into the water, wandered off in search of larks' nests.
She came slowly back when George blew a whistle announcing lunch.
"Hullo! What's this ?" he asked, as he dived a hand into her creel.
"Ugh! a doll! I say, Taffy, let's float her down the river.
What humbug, Honoria!" But she had snatched the doll and crammed it back roughly into the creel.

A minute later, when they were not looking, she lifted the lid again and disposed the poor thing more gently.
"Why don't you talk, one of you ?" George demanded, with his mouth full.
Taffy shook himself out of his waking dream--"I was wondering where it goes to," he said, and nodded toward the running water.
"It goes down to Langona," said George, "and that's just a creek full of sand, with a church right above it in a big grass meadow--the queerest small church you ever saw.

But I've heard my father tell that hundreds of years back a big city stood there, with seven fine churches and quays, and deep water alongside and above, so that ships could sail right up to the ford.