" I had n't gone a block before I met Mrs. K. 

 'Hush!' she said ecstatically. 'Don't move a 

 muscle ! Right up there on that branch is one 

 of those rare, exquisite, speckle-winged, ring- 

 tailed screamers.' 



" You and I seem to be the only sane people 

 left." 



I happen to know the above Mrs. C. and Mrs. 

 K. personally. I meet them everywhere. 

 When they are not listening to the purple-eyed 

 tickle-bird, they are whispering " Twinkle 

 twinkle" to the stars, or calling, as they pace 

 the beach, " Roll on, thou deep and dark blue 

 Ocean." They love the out-of-doors. They ex- 

 claim over nature with the lips of all the poets. 

 They adore her ! All the time they go about 

 looking for wonderful purple-eyed tickle-birds 

 and screamers, listening for wind voices, feeling 

 for wave pulses, and dreaming, forever dream- 

 ing, of how happy the morning stars must be 

 that they sing together. 



All of which is good. An excellent thing it 

 is to have a turn of rapture now and again. 

 Nature herself will have one occasionally— in 

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