THE BABIES' BIRTHDAY. 267 



wind bring, but heat, terrible and suffocating, 

 like that of a fiery furnace. Before it the hu- 

 man and the vegetable worlds shrink and wither, 

 and birds and beasts are little seen. 



Such a day was the birthday in the little nest 

 in the raspberries, and on my usual morning 

 call I found four featherless birdlings, with 

 beaks already yawning for food. Every morn- 

 ing, of course, I looked at the babies, but it was 

 not till the eighth day of their life that I found 

 their eyes open. Before this they opened their 

 mouths when I jarred the nest in parting the 

 branches, thus showing they were not asleep, 

 but did not open their eyes, and I was forced to 

 conclude that they were not yet unclosed. 



Sometimes the daily visit was made under 

 difficulties, and I was unpleasantly surprised 

 when I stepped upon the grass of the little lawn 

 that I was obliged to cross. The grass looked 

 as usual; the evening before we had been sit- 

 ting upon it. But all night, a stream had been 

 silently spreading itself upon it, and my hasty 

 step was into water two or three inches deep, 

 which swished up in a small fountain and filled 

 a low shoe in an instant. 



This is one of the idiosyncrasies of irrigation, 

 which it seemed I should never get accustomed 

 to, and several times I was obliged to turn back 

 for overshoes before I could pay my usual call. 



