138 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 
meadows scores of meadow-larks cried, ‘“‘Swee-eet, 
swee-eet.”” Westering down the sky sank the cres- 
cent new moon, with blazing Jupiter in her train. 
As the Band climbed Violet Hill and swung into the 
long lane which ended in home, they heard the last 
and loveliest bird-song of that whole dear day. 
Through the gathering darkness came a sweet and 
dreamy croon, the love-song of the little owl. Even 
as they listened, the distant door of the house opened 
and, framed in the lamp-light, waiting for them, was 
Mother, the best treasure of all. 
