So they did each
what he liked, and were never so happy as when
walking in the garden in the cool of the day,
touching the growing things as they walked, and
praising each other's work.
They were very happy for three years. By
this time the stream had become so interested it
had almost forgotten about running away. But
every year it noted that a larger bit of the
meadow was turned under and planted, and more
and more the men made dams and ditches by
which to turn the water into their gardens.
``In fact,'' said the stream, ``I am being made
into an irrigating ditch before I have had my
fling in the world. I really must make a start.''
That very winter, by the help of a great storm,
the stream went roaring down the meadow, over
the mesa, and so clean away, with only a track
of muddy sand to show the way it had gone.
All that winter the two men brought water for
drinking from a spring, and looked for the stream
to come back. In the spring they hoped still, for
that was the season they looked for the orchard
to bear. But no fruit grew on the trees, and the
seeds they planted shriveled in the earth. So by
the end of summer, when they understood that
the water would not come back at all, they went
sadly away.
Now the Creek of Pinon Pines did not have
a happy time. It went out in the world on the
wings of the storm, and was very much tossed
about and mixed up with other waters, lost and
bewildered.
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