LISTEN TO THE MOCKING-BIRD 



ing to recall some of its bright specialties, I find 

 that my recollection of it is much like the recol 

 lection of an orchestral performance, and you 

 know that if the performance is a good one, you 

 do not remember anything in particular. No one 

 tries to make a diagram of a warm glow. Only 

 a general sense of wagon-loads of farm babies in 

 white, and boisterous lads and lassies with base 

 ball bats and croquet mallets, all exulting in out 

 doors as if they had never seen it before. It was 

 very pleasant to see young life decant itself in 

 this simple manner, making the fields effervesce 

 and the thickets bubble. But in the recollection 

 of it is a pervading gleam of Griselle in her leg 

 horn hat, keeping up a quiet authoritative bustle 

 like the Lady of the Manor, directing, giving me 

 whispered orders that were imperative, but very 

 demure, making me fetch water, climb trees to 

 fasten ropes up for swings, everybody else regard 

 ing me, I thought, with a slight awe. It gave 

 me a great deal of quiet satisfaction to take my 

 orders, especially when they were confidential, 

 and tacitly to concede her right to direct me, 

 though how she got the right, or when it was 

 conferred, I m blessed if I know. 



Altogether I entered into the spirit of the 

 thing with a zest that surprised me, and when 

 the sun was setting, we all bundled into our 

 wagons and went off homeward, making the 

 highway ring with our homely songs. 



But that night when Charlie and I were in bed, 

 I asked him how he had enjoyed himself. 



87 &quot; 



