The Second Confesion

There certainly were thousands of stones, all shapes and sizes, some partly under water, more along the edge and on the bank. I shook my head. It was a perfectly good idea, but there was only one of me and I was no expert I moved to a new position and looked some more. The stones that were in the water all had smooth surfaces, and the high ones were dry and light-coloured, and the low ones were dark and wet and slippery. Those on the bank, beyond the water, were also smooth and dry and light-coloured until they got up to a certain level, where there was an abrupt change and they were rough and much darker-a greenish grey.

Of course the dividing line was the level of the water in the spring when the brook was up.

Good for you, I thought, you've made one hell of a discovery and now you're a geologist. All you have to do now is put every damn rock under the glass, and along about Labour Day you'll be ready to report. Ignoring my sarcasm, I went on looking. I moved along the edge of the brook, stepping on stones, until I was underneath the bridge, stood there a while, and moved again, upstream from the bridge. By that time my eyes had caught on to the idea and I didn't have to keep reminding them.

It was there, ten feet up from the bridge, that I found it. It was only a few inches from the water's edge, and was cuddled in a nest of larger stones, half hidden, but when I had once spotted it it was as conspicuous as a scratched cheek. About the size of a coconut, and something like one in shape, it was rough and greenish grey, whereas all its neighbours were smooth and light-coloured. I was so excited I stood and gawked at it for ten seconds, and when I moved, with my eyes glued on it for fear it would take a hop, I stepped on a wiggler and nearly took a header into the brook.

One thing sure, that rock hadn't been there long.

I bent over double so as to use both hands to pick it up, touching it only with the tips of four fingers, and straightened to take a look. The best bet would of course be prints, but one glance showed that to be an outside chance. It was rough all over, hundreds of little indentations, with not a smooth spot anywhere. But I still held it with my fingertips, because while prints had been the best bet they were by no means the only one. I was starting to turn, to move away from the brook for a better footing, when a voice came from right behind me.