The last word, I trust, on the waterworks for a while. The Northern Professor and the Gamekeeper, with some assistance from me & some barrows full of rocks, attempted the scientific construction of a lilting rill with water chuckling poetically o’er the stones (white quartz) in the course of the afternoon. It may even have worked, though the amount of mud generated by sloshing bits of streambed from A to B and damming it with rocks and pebbles was beyond computation. But the fall has been tuned, it babbles, bickers, & so on, like a good ‘un It all seems a bit cold-blooded, really. Talking of which, the fish seem to have survived their translation, at any rate, they aren’t floating on the surface. Mrs Grey the Cat is getting shinier and better looking by the day, also very sociable; it has been charming to see her interest in all this water play, mitigated, naturally, by her determination not to muddy her nice white paws.