

THINGS TO HEAR THIS SUMMER 47 



patter of something in it that I cannot describe, 

 something that I used to hear on the shingles of the f . I 

 garret over the rafters where the bunches of bore-, 

 hound and catnip and pennyroyal hung. 



II 



You ought to hear the lively clatter of a mowing- 

 machine. It is hot out of doors ; the roads are begin- 

 ning to look dusty; the insects are tuning up in 

 the grass, and, like their chorus all together, am 

 marching round and round the meadow, moves ihe\ 

 mower's whirring blade. I love the sound. Hay-r 

 ing is hard, sweet work. The farmer who does notf 

 love his haying ought to be made to keep a country 

 store and sell kerosene oil and lumps of dead salt 

 pork out of a barrel. He could not appreciate a live, . 

 friendly pig. 



Down the long swath sing the knives, the cogs 

 click above the square corners, and the big, loud 

 thing sings on again, the song of " first-fruits/'^ 

 the first great ingathering of the season, a song i 

 to touch the heart with joy and sweet solemnity. a* 



III 



You ought to hear the Katydids two of the 

 on the trees outside your window. They are not! 

 saying " Katy did," nor singing " Katy did "; they 

 are fiddling " Katy did," " Katy did n't'" by rasp- 

 ing the fore wings. 



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