The Rambles of an Idler 



Though every drop was big and round, and 

 there were millions of them, a satisfied wood 

 peewee perched on a poorly protected twig and 

 caught many a draggled insect that ventured 

 abroad. What a fitting song was that of the 

 bird, blending so admirably with the sighing of 

 the wind and the creaking of the elm-tree 

 branches. Pee-ah-wee! Pee-ah! Perhaps the 

 bird found pleasure in his melancholy; I have 

 known people to do so. I found mine in antici- 

 pating the general refreshing of Nature, re- 

 membering what a rain means after weeks of 

 dry weather. Much will happen in a single 

 night, after the storm passes. Many a plant 

 will wait for moisture, if it waits all summer. I 

 shall look for green growths confidently where 

 now it is but bare sand. Every drop of this 

 blessed rain is a fairy's wand and has illimita- 

 ble transmuting power. If one's thought of 

 rain is only to keep out of it, much is lost. It is 

 not one of Nature 's holidays and the world idle, 

 and the rambler is unwise who makes a holiday 

 of it and hides behind a door. Rainy day ram- 

 bles are among our choicest experiences, but it 

 takes a man of some courage to face a driving 

 northeaster. 



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