A QUIET AFTERNOON 39 



sound vulgar in the nice ears of modern 

 readers ? Well, we earned our money. 



Now an oriole's clear August fife is heard. 

 A short month, and he will be gone. And 

 hark ! A most exquisite strain by one of the 

 best of field sparrows. I have never found 

 an adjective quite good enough for that bit 

 of common music. I believe there is none. 

 Nor can I think of any at this moment with 

 which to express the beauty of this summer 

 afternoon. Fairer weather was never seen 

 in any corner of the world. Four crows fly 

 over the field in company. The hindmost of 

 them has a hard time with a redwing, which 

 strikes again and again. " Give it to him ! " 

 say I. Between crow and man I am for 

 the crow; but between the crow and the 

 smaller bird I am always for the smaller 

 bird. Whether I am right or wrong is not 

 the question here. This is not my day for 

 arguing, but for feeling. 



How pretty the hardhack is ! Though it 

 stands up rather stiff, it feels every breath 

 of wind. Its beauty grows on me as I look, 

 which is enough of itself to make this a pro- 

 fitable afternoon. There is no beauty so 

 welcome as new beauty in an old friend. 



