ON WILD ROSE'S HIGHWAY 127 



It came from the side of the path where we 

 could not see the top of the bank. A cricket began 

 chirping as though he really were angry. We 

 couldn't hear a single word then. The wind also 

 blew and stirred up the leaves until they made 

 a great noise. There was a black cloud in the 

 sky, rolling and tumbling over the soft white ones 

 and the blue sky underneath. 



" Will it rain? " I whispered to Grandmother, 

 for I was hoping we might stay where we were 

 to hear if the voice would say something more. 

 She shook her head: "A wind cloud, child." 



Then when the leaves were a little quiet, the 

 voice said, quite loudly: 



" You're different from Columbine." It was 

 very provoking, but just then the locust broke in. 

 I thought he never would stop singing. 



" You're very — " but for the locust we might 

 have heard what else the voice said. 



The wind had also begun again. It blew so 

 loud and strong that I had to hold my hat on with 

 both hands. Somewhere, quite far off, we heard 

 a dog barking. For a long time the voice seemed 

 still. Then it began again: 



" It's a shame to call you a weed." 



Grandmother looked at me with a little smile. 

 We were almost sure the voice was Tommy's, and 

 that it said something else, but we couldn't hear, 

 for a tree-toad made a noise big enough for the 

 bullfrog in the stream. A robin, too, hopped out 



