Part 14 (1/2)
”You cannot,” said the brook.
”But I will.”
”You cannot. You are a very clever boy, Bevis, but you cannot stop; nor can your papa, nor anybody, you must keep on. Let me see, let me think.
I remember, I have seen you before; it was so many, many thousand years ago, but I am almost sure it was you. Now I begin to think about it, I believe I have seen you two or three times, Bevis; but it was before the hippopotamus used to come and splash about in me. I cannot be quite certain, for it is a long time to remember your face, dear.”
”I do not believe it,” said Bevis; ”you are babbling, Brook. My mamma says you babble--it is because you are so old. I am sure I was not born then.”
”Yes, you were, dear; and I daresay you will come back again, when all the hills are changed and the roads are covered with woods, and the houses gone. I daresay you will come back again and splash in me, like the blackbirds.”
”Now you are talking nonsense, you silly Brook,” said Bevis; ”the hills will never change, and the roads will always be here, and the houses will not be gone: but why are you sighing, you dear old Brook?”
”I am sighing, my love, because I remember.”
”What do you remember?”
”I remember before the hills were like they are now; I remember when I was a broad deep river; I remember the stars that used to s.h.i.+ne in me, and they are all gone, you cannot see them now, Bevis ('Pooh,' said Bevis); I remember the stories the lions used to tell me when they came down to drink; I remember the people dancing on the gra.s.s by me, and sing, singing; they used to sing like me, Bevis, without knowing what it was they sung, and without any words (not stupid songs, Bevis, like your people sing now), but I understood them very well. I cannot understand the songs the folk sing now, the folk that live now have gone away so far from me.”
”What nonsense you say, old Brook; why, we live quite close, and the waggons go over your bridge every day.”
”I remember (the brook took no notice, but went on), I remember them very well, and they loved me dearly too; they had boats, Bevis, made out of trees, and they floated about on me.”
”I will have a boat,” said Bevis, ”and float about on you.”
”And they played music, which was just like my singing, and they were very happy, because, as I told you about myself, they did not think about the minute that was coming, or the minute that had gone by, they only thought about this minute.”
”How long was that ago?” said Bevis.
”Oh,” said the brook, ”I daresay your papa would tell you it was thousands upon thousands of years, but that is not true, dear; it was only a second or two since.”
”I shall not stay to listen much longer, silly Brook, if you talk like that; why, it must be longer than that, or I should have seen it.”
”My dear,” said the brook, ”that which has gone by, whether it happened a second since, or a thousand thousand years since, is just the same; there is no real division betwixt you and the past. You people who live now have made up all sorts of stupid, very stupid stories, dear; I hope you will not believe them; they tell you about time and all that. Now there is no such thing as time, Bevis my love; there never was any time, and there never will be; the sun laughs at it, even when he marks it on the sun-dial. Yesterday was just a second ago, and so was ten thousand years since, and there is nothing between you and then; there is no wall between you and then--nothing at all, dear,”--and the brook sang so low and thoughtfully that Bevis could not catch what he said, but the tune was so sweet, and soft, and sad that it made him keep quite still. While he was listening the kingfisher came back and perched on the hatch, and Bevis saw his ruddy neck and his blue wings.
”There is nothing between you and then,” the brook began again, ”nothing at all, dear; only some stories which are not true; if you will not believe me, look at the sun, but you cannot look at the sun, darling; it s.h.i.+nes so bright. It s.h.i.+nes just the same, as bright and beautiful; and the wind blows as sweet as ever, and I sparkle and sing just the same, and you may drink me if you like; and the gra.s.s is just as green; and the stars s.h.i.+ne at night. Oh, yes, Bevis dear, _we_ are all here just the same, my love, and all things are as bright and beautiful as ten thousand times ten thousand years ago, which is no longer since than a second.
”But your people have gone away from us--that is their own fault. I cannot think why they should do so; they have gone away from us, and they are no longer happy, Bevis; they cannot understand our songs--they sing stupid songs they have made up themselves, and which they did not learn of us, and then because they are not happy, they say: 'The world is growing old'. But it is not true, Bevis, the world is not old, it is as young as ever it was. Fling me a leaf--and now another. Do not you forget me, Bevis; come and see me now and then, and throw twigs to me and splash me.”
”That I will,” said Bevis; and he picked up a stone and flung it into the water with such a splash that the kingfisher flew away, but the brook only laughed, and told him to throw another, and to make haste and eat the peck of salt, and grow bigger and jump over him. ”That I will,”
said Bevis, ”I am very hungry now--good-morning, I am going home to dinner.”
”Good-morning, dear,” said the brook, ”you will always find me here when you want to hear a song.” Bevis went home to dinner humming the tune the brook had taught him, and by-and-by, when the hot sun had begun to sink a little, he started again for the copse, and as before the dragon-fly met him, and led him to the timber, and from there to the raspberries.
The squirrel was waiting for him on a bough of the oak, and while Bevis picked the fruit that had ripened since yesterday, told him the news the peewits had brought about the great rebel Choo Hoo. A party of the peewits, who had been watching ever so far away, thought they saw a stir and a movement in the woods; and presently out came one of the captains of the wood-pigeons with two hundred of his soldiers, and they flew over the border into King Kapchack's country and began to forage in one of his wheat-fields, where the corn was ripe. When they saw this, the peewits held a council on the hill, and they sent a messenger to Kapchack with the news. While they were waiting for him to return, some of the wood-pigeons, having foraged enough, went home to the woods, so that there was not much more than half of them left.
Seeing this--for his soldiers who were wheeling about in the air came and told him--the captain of the peewits thought: ”Now is my time! This is a most lucky and fortunate circ.u.mstance, and I can now win the high approval of King Kapchack, and obtain promotion. The captain of the wood-pigeons has no idea how many of us are watching his proceedings, for I have kept my peewits behind the cover of the hill so that he could not count them, and he has allowed half of the wood-pigeons to go home.
We will rush down upon the rest, and so win an easy victory.”
So saying he flew up, and all the peewits followed him in the expectation of an easy conquest. But, just as they were descending upon the wheat-field, up flew the wood-pigeons with such a terrible clangour of their strong wings, and facing towards them, showed such a determination to fight to the last breath, that the peewits, who were never very celebrated for their courage, turned tail, and began to retreat.
They would still have reached the hills in good order, and would have suffered no great disgrace (for they were but a small party, and not so numerous as the wood-pigeons), but in the midst of these manoeuvres, the lieutenant of the pigeons, who had gone home with those who had done foraging, flew out from the wood with his men, and tried by a flank movement to cut off the peewits' retreat. At this they were so alarmed they separated and broke up their ranks, each flying to save himself as best he might. Nor did they stop till long after the wood-pigeons, being cautious and under complete control, had ceased to pursue; not till they had flown back two or three miles into the fastnesses of Kapchack's hills. Then some of them, collecting again, held a hurried council, and sent off messengers with the news of this affray.