THE MID-JUNE FLOWERS. 173 
wandered through the grass in the meadow, and saw it 
wave in the gentle breeze; they startled the fish in the 
brook and ran along the bank to see more of their won- 
derful life. They watched the water plants rise and fall 
with the current, and delighted in the rippling music of 
the brook where it slipped hurriedly over the pebbles. 
Sometimes they crept with stealthy tread to the margin 
with short poles and pieces of wire to snare the little 
pickerel which lay so motionless near the surface, but 
which awoke all too soon to a sense of danger and 
darted out of sight. They ran, hat in hand, after the 
butterflies which rose from the flowers amid the grass; 
they hunted for the nests of birds which fluttered 
timidly before them. They delighted in seeing frogs 
dive into the brook and swim under the bank for shel- 
ter, and they poked them out of their hiding-places to 
watch their frantic efforts to escape. 
Life was all about them and in them. The sun- 
shine filled their little world with brightness. Light 
was life to‘them. Consciously or unconsciously, they 
reveled in both. The days were long, because they 
were so full of pleasure, and the seasons and the years 
seemed almost endless. 
There were times when the boys tired of the brook 
and climbed the railroad embankment that bordered 
the meadow and separated it from the great river. 
There they watched men fishing, who caught great 
