54 By the Rippling Sea. 



in this forlorn old mansion — only one or two of its win- 

 dows let in the sun. The crane hung in the chimney, 

 that was built with the most ancient part of the dwelling, 

 and everything about the house seemed to look to the 

 past — like an old man who sits by the fire and broods on 

 the memory of bygone days. 



The most joyous thing I ever saw near the old house 

 were the daffodils in Spring, and the most industrious was 

 a colony of wasps in the old cherry tree. 



Perhaps the man who lived in this ancient dwelling 

 was as proud as the turkey-gobbler that strutted about 

 among the box bushes. It certainly was a fine bird, and 

 perhaps he was an equally fine man, but Nature had not 

 decked him out as gaily as she had the gobbler. Great 

 folds of skin, of red, blue, and pink, blended together in a 

 marvelous way, and with the flashing dark eyes. The 

 pendant from the bill, reaching the breast, was equally 

 gorgeous, and the feathers, black and glossy. Indeed, the 

 turkey is a fashionable bird in feathers as well as without, 

 and would do to walk the avenues, arrayed in his splendid 

 attire, with those who parade for show. 



But now the dwelling was deserted, and the barn door 

 hung wide on its hinges. The turkeys were gone, and the 

 open windows let in the rain. The roof of the older 

 portion of the house had fallen further away from the more 

 recent addition, though it still clung to the chimney where 

 once hung the crane. A tree-toad pressed close to a 

 mossy shingle, and was bathed in the afternoon sun, and 

 beneath the tottering roof the spotted wasps had built one 

 of their jug-like nests. The long branches of the matri- 



