A JUNE DAY CHAT 



from her. A clever bit of reasoning this; the 

 following out of the recognition that the dog and 

 I are almost inseparable and that provisions ap- 

 pear when we do. 



The bungalow is a place of delight all summer 

 long. Before it is the apparently interminable 

 forest, the very heart of the woods. Beside and 

 around it, even outlining its railings are flow- 

 ers and plants of the dear, old-fashioned kind, 

 and, tenderly screening the only side of the 

 veranda that looks out toward the world where 

 people pass, honeysuckle vines climb and riot 

 and, during blossom time, almost intoxicate us 

 with their luscious, all-pervading fragrance. 

 From early in the morning, when the grass and 

 flowers sparkle with dew and bird-songs fill the 

 air, until the peaceful hour when the twilight 

 shades fall and the good-nights of the feathered 

 folk are being said or sung, this place has its own 

 peculiar charm. 



And when the last day-voice has been stilled 

 are heard sounds that fit in with the coolness and 

 mystery of night. Then the flowers speak a lan- 

 guage never heard in sunlit hours, and, flitting 

 in and out among the dark places of the forest 

 or glowing among the lowly grasses- appear the 



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