half a dozen broken hooks embedded in the 

 big jaw. He looks like a shield of silver 

 pearl as he lies, flashing rainbows, on the 

 green growths of the bank. A single bird- 

 call sounds shrill and clear. The fisherman 

 glances up apprehensively. It is a red- 

 bird's note, and means the end of rain and 

 fishing. It is answered from every side. 

 First by the mocking-bird, who darts out 

 from his nesting thicket to perch, on some 

 high bough and pour out a flood of melody. 

 Robins follow, bluebird, thrush, oriole. A 

 low wind springs and freshens. The sky 

 rises, and hardens to gray-white, with here 

 and there a fragment of rain-cloud under it, 

 from which comes now and again a fitful 

 shower. 



Grassland is a green lake two inches 

 deep, with red earthworms revelling in its 

 clear shallows. Muddy rivulets run along 

 the corn -rows, their faint trickle drowned 

 in the rustle of tossing blades. To-night, 

 when the world is still, you can actually 

 hear the corn grow a peculiar faint up- 

 rushing murmur, like nothing else under 

 heaven. In a warm, wet night corn-stalks 

 in good ground will lengthen fourteen to 

 sixteen inches. What wonder that such 

 growth is audible. 



