A
late frost had cut the blossoms of the pear and the cherry; the
half-blown blossom dropped at the touch of the finger, and Evelyn
regretted the frost, thinking of the nets she had made.
"They'll be of very little use this year." And she wondered if the
currant and gooseberry-bushes had escaped; the apples had, for they
were later, unless there was another frost. "And then my nets will be
of no use at all; and, I have worked so hard at them!"
The lilac-bushes were not yet in leaf--only some tiny green shoots.
"We shall not have any lilac this year till the middle of May. Was
there ever such a season?" Larks were everywhere, ascending in short
flights, trilling as they ascended; and Evelyn listened to their
singing, thinking it most curious--quaint cadenzas in which a note
was wanting, like in the bagpipes, a sort of aerial bagpipes. But on
a bare bough a thrush sang, breaking out presently into a little tune
of five notes. "Quite a little tune; one would think the bird had
been taught it." She waited for him to sing it again, but, as if not
wishing to waste his song, being a careful bird, he continued a sort
of recitative; then, thinking his listener had waited long enough for
his little aria, he broke out again.
Pages:
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294