Twenty Hill Hollow 
“Seekit, seek, seek, seekit!”” Near neighbors, 
peeping cautiously half out of doors, engage 
in low, purring chat. Others, bolt upright on 
the doorsill or on the rock above, shout excitedly 
as if calling attention to the motions and as- 
pects of the enemy. Like the wolf, this little 
animal is accursed, because of his relish for 
grain. What a pity that Nature should have 
made so many small mouths palated like our 
own! 
All the seasons of the Hollow are warm and 
bright, and flowers bloom through the whole 
year. But the grand commencement of the an- 
nual genesis of plant and insect life is governed 
by the setting-in of the rains, in December or 
January. The air, hot and opaque, is then 
washed and cooled. Plant seeds, which for 
six months have lain on the ground dry as if 
garnered in a farmer’s bin, at once unfold their 
treasured life. Flies hum their delicate tunes. 
Butterflies come from their coffins, like cotyle- 
dons from their husks. The network of dry 
water-courses, spread over valleys and hollows, 
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