Buds were swelling on every side. Those of the lilac were nearly an inch
long, and emitted a perfume of the rarest delicacy, far superior to that of
the blossoms to come. The nests of the earlier birds were in all stages of
construction, and could be seen readily in the leafless trees. Snakes were
crawling from their holes, and lay sunning themselves in the roads, to her
and Johnnie's dismay. Alf captured turtles that, deep in the mud, had
learned the advent of spring as readily as the creatures of the air. The
fish were ascending the swollen streams. "Each rill," as Thoreau wrote, "is
peopled with new life rushing up it." Abram and Alf were planning a
momentous expedition to a tumbling dam on the Moodna, the favorite resort
of the sluggish suckers. New chicks were daily breaking their shells, and
their soft, downy, ball-like little bodies were more to Amy's taste than
the peepers of the marsh.
One Saturday morning Alf rushed in, announcing with breathless haste that
"Kitten had a calf." Kitten was a fawn-colored Alderney, the favorite of
the barnyard, and so gentle that even Johnnie did not fear to rub her
rough nose, scratch her between her horns, or bring her wisps of grass
when she was tied near the house. Her calf was unlike all other calves.
There was no rest until Amy had seen it, and she admitted that she had
never looked upon a more innocent and droll little visage. At the
children's pleading the infant cow was given to them, but they were
warned to leave it for the present to Abram and Kitten's care, for the
latter was inclined to act like a veritable old cat when any one made too
free with her bovine baby.
Pages:
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258