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 

 garret over the rafters where the bunches of hore- 

 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, and 

 marching round and round the meadow, moves the 

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

 ing is hard, sweet work. The farmer who does not 

 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 

 to touch the heart with joy and sweet solemnity. 



Ill 



You ought to hear the Katydids two of them 

 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. 



