The Open Air 



and fro that alters our colour. A rough wind gives us 

 one tint, and heavy rain another, and we look different 

 on a cloudy day to what we do on a sunny one. All 

 these colours changed on us when the blackbird was 

 whistling in the oak the lightning struck, the fourth 

 one backwards from me; and it makes me sad to 

 think that after four more oaks have gone, the same 

 colours will come on the wheat that will grow then. 

 It is thinking about those past colours, and songs, 

 and leaves, and of the colours and the sunshine, and 

 the songs, and the leaves that will come in the future 

 that makes to-day so much. It makes to-day a thou- 

 sand years long backwards, and a thousand years 

 long forwards, and makes the sun so warm, and the 

 air so sweet, and the butterflies so lovely, and the 

 hum of the bees, and everything so delicious. We 

 cannot have enough of it." 



" No, that we cannot/' said Guido. " Go on, you 

 talk so nice and low. I feel sleepy and jolly. Talk 

 away, old Wheat." 



" Let me see," said the Wheat. " Once on a time 

 while the men were knocking us out of the ear on a 

 floor with flails, which are sticks with little hinges " 



"As if I did not know what a flail was! " said 

 Guido. " I hit old John with the flail, and Ma gave 

 him a shilling not to be cross." 



" While they were knocking us with the hard 

 sticks," the Wheat went on, " we heard them talking 

 about a king who was shot with an arrow like yours 

 in the forest it slipped from a tree, and went into 

 him instead of into the deer. And long before that 

 the men came up the river the stream in the ditch 

 there runs into the river in rowing ships how you 

 would like one to play in, Guido ! For they were not 

 like the ships now which are machines, they were 



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