224 FLOWERS OF THE SUN 



Flag, before our pathways, which had touched and 

 crossed in other years, met again, to run as nearly 

 parallel as those of unsheeplike people may. 



One day, between early and middle June, we 

 sauntered, Nell's usual gait, born of experience 

 when off the highroad, along Sunflower Lane, 

 pausing often to look through gaps in the hedging 

 bushes across hayfields where stiff Timothy already 

 rustled crisp as Rye. On the left a few well-kept 

 upland meadows, rosy with lush Clover, made vistas 

 between narrow strips of woods, and beyond these 

 the marsh meadows and the Sea Gardens glistened 

 with brilliant samphire green. 



The brushed and wooded places were overflow- 

 ing with bird melody, and the hungry twittering of 

 fledglings, answered by the warning call -notes of 

 anxious parents, came from every side. Bobolinks 

 swayed and sang in tree -tops, and, clinging to arch- 

 ing Blackberry canes snowy with blossoms, launched 

 themselves into the meadows, where they suddenly 

 disappeared with the impetuous dash of a diver 

 cleaving the waves, leaving behind, not a wake of 

 spray, but a veil of music, to cover their retreat. 



Above the tall Black Alders in the moist ditch 

 beside the lane, redwings were fluttering and call- 

 ing wildly as of old, showing that at least one way- 



