Night after night he flooded the garden, and always before morning the
water had sunk away through the gravel. Soon there was no longer
any doubt that everything was mightily refreshed by it; the look of
exhaustion and hopelessness was gone, and life was busy in flower and
tree and plant. This year there was not a garden, even on the banks of
the river, to compare with it; and when the autumn came, there was more
fruit than Mr Macmichael remembered ever to have seen before.
CHAPTER X.
A NEW ALARUM.
Willie was always thinking what uses he could put things to. Only he
was never tempted to set a fine thing to do dirty work, as dull-hearted
money-grubbers do--mill-owners, for instance, when they make the channel
of a lovely mountain-stream serve for a drain to carry off the filth
from their works. If Dante had known any such, I know where he would
have put them, but I would rather not describe the place. I have told
you what Willie made the prisoned stream do for the garden; I will now
tell you what he made the running stream do for himself, and you shall
judge whether or not that was fit work for him to require of it.
Ever since he had ceased being night-nurse to little Agnes, he had
wished that he had some one to wake him every night, about the middle of
it, that he might get up and look out of the window.
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