The Black Swans 



oak leaves dancing, but that made no 

 difference. The shrill cadence still 

 rose and fell. And presently a low and 

 regularly measured note emanating 

 from some other source was audible. 

 At first I could not just make it out, 

 but it was soon brought up with a 

 sudden little jerk, and then I knew at 

 once that it was neither entomological 

 nor yet ornithological in its origin. 

 It was only Billy over there in her 

 nest in the corner of the room softly 

 purring. Luna is fading fast by this 

 time, for the gray dawn is breaking. 

 The crows are cawing, and at four- 

 forty Ben Roberts' young White Leg- 

 horn rooster takes a hand. He only 

 learned to crow last week, and doesn't 

 "follow through" exactly yet, but he 

 has found out that he is a sure-enough 

 rooster now, and wants all the world to 

 know it. 



At last there is obviously a tired 

 feeling creeping o'er the cricket col- 

 onies. There is evident lack of interest, 



[132] 



