I sat wrapped in my cloak, and watched him making idle circles in the sandy path with the rose-switch he had cut.
A thought struck me.

"John, hand me the stick and I'll give you your first writing lesson." So there, on the smooth gravel, and with the rose-stem for a pen, I taught him how to form the letters of the alphabet and join them together.

He learned them very quickly--so quickly, that in a little while the simple copy-book that Mother Earth obliged us with was covered in all directions with "J O H N--John." "Bravo!" he cried, as we turned homeward, he flourishing his gigantic pen, which had done such good service; "bravo! I have gained something to-day!" Crossing the bridge over the Avon, we stood once more to look at the waters that were "out." They had risen considerably, even in that short time, and were now pouring in several new channels, one of which was alongside of the high road; we stopped a good while watching it.
The current was harmless enough, merely flooding a part of the Ham; but it awed us to see the fierce power of waters let loose.

An old willow-tree, about whose roots I had often watched the king-cups growing, was now in the centre of a stream as broad as the Avon by our tan-yard, and thrice as rapid.

The torrent rushed round it--impatient of the divisions its great roots caused--eager to undermine and tear it up.