IX 



THE LITTLE MOCKING BIRD 



IT was luxuriant lying in the tall 

 meadow grass that enfolded one 

 like the arms of his mother. The blue 

 sky, in which there was no sadness, was 

 above, and the great heart of the old 

 earth was throbbing like a mighty engine 

 under me. The grass was cool and many 

 patterned, and in among its tangles was a 

 very busy world of ants and insects, all 

 working or eating as the mood seized 

 them. But the deepest joy of all was the 

 gleeful babble of the little brook that 

 prattled like a very happy child. 



It gurgled and cooed, dimpled, smiled 

 and laughed, and suddenly, without the 



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