THE FAERY YEAR 



and partaken of as this butterfly one on a flower in 

 the open air and sun ? It is the least carnal of all 

 meals surely. It is good to notice, too, the nice way 

 in which, after a sip or two, the small skipper rolls 

 up the hair-spring and makes it swiftly disappear 

 under the head. Swiftness and precision mark the 

 action ; the spring is closed in the fraction of an 

 instant. Thus rolled and put away, it is quite out 

 of our sight and out of the butterfly's way. But, 

 the course ended, occasionally the small skipper, 

 before he flies off the flower, will just push out a 

 tiny ring of it, about the size of a pin's head, for a 

 second or two. Some trifle of stickiness has to be 

 removed, or perhaps the spring has not been rolled 

 up and disposed in exactly the right position, and 

 hence some minute rearrangement is desirable. This 

 machinery must be kept in apple-pie order. A place 

 for everything with the butterfly, and everything in 

 its place. 



Attar of Hay Harvest 



The great scent, the whole feeling and associa- 

 tion of the hay harvest, take complete possession of 

 us, soak into us, on such nights as July brings in. 

 The thing is to come right into the thick of the hay 

 harvest, soiled and subdued by a long day in a city. 

 It is like water after sundown to a plant drooping 

 and scorched by a burning sun. Only the recovery 

 is quicker. The chilly night air, full of the attar of 

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