Summer Rain 



it had come drifting up the Kan- 

 imbla Valley it would have been 

 called mountain mist; but a gentle 

 south wind drove it in from the sea, 

 and so it was only summer rain. 

 But it floated, soft and white, up 

 the harbour, and drifted in smoky 



clouds across the craggy headlands, drenching rocks and trees 

 as it went. The big branches stretched out eager arms for its 

 embrace ; the poor, scarred trees, which the fire had tortured, 

 lifted their maimed heads for its soothing kiss ; and over the 

 blaze-blackened surface of the earth tiny green sprouts shot 

 up joyously to meet it. 



The butterflies didn't like it, for it damped their silken 

 dresses of brown and gold, and clogged their flittering wings ; 

 so they flew about dejectedly looking for a hole in which to 

 hide from its penetrating wet. The swallows didn't like it 

 either, for it drove all flying insects into shelter, and so robbed 

 them of their breakfast. They sat in gloomy rows on rain- 

 decked telegraph wires, or grumbled to each other on dripping 

 tree-tops. But the Jacky Winters loved it, for it drove the 

 little earth-hiding insects out of their water-logged holes to 

 look for better shelter ; and as the tiny creatures crept about 



