Twenty Hill Hollow 



&quot;Seekit, seek, seek, seekit!&quot; Near neighbors, 

 peeping cautiously half out of doors, engage 

 in low, purring chat. Others, bolt upright on 

 the doorsill or on the rock above, shout excitedly 

 as if calling attention to the motions and as 

 pects of the enemy. Like the wolf, this little 

 animal is accursed, because of his relish for 

 grain. What a pity that Nature should have 

 made so many small mouths palated like our 

 own! 



All the seasons of the Hollow are warm and 

 bright, and flowers bloom through the whole 

 year. But the grand commencement of the an 

 nual genesis of plant and insect life is governed 

 by the setting-in of the rains, in December or 

 January. The air, hot and opaque, is then 

 washed and cooled. Plant seeds, which for 

 six months have lain on the ground dry as if 

 garnered in a farmer s bin, at once unfold their 

 treasured life. Flies hum their delicate tunes. 

 Butterflies come from their coffins, like cotyle 

 dons from their husks. The network of dry 

 water-courses, spread over valleys and hollows, 

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