One morning Mary aroused Jimmy with a
pull at his arm.
"Jimmy, Jimmy," she cried. "Wake up!"
"Do you mane, wake up, or get up?" asked Jimmy sleepily.
"Both," cried Mary. "The larks are here!"
A little later Jimmy shouted from the back door to the barn:
"Dannie, do you hear the larks?"
"Ye bet I do," answered Dannie. "Heard ane goin' over in the
nicht. How long is it now till the Kingfisher comes?"
"Just a little while," said Jimmy. "If only these March storms
would let up 'stid of down! He can't come until he can fish, you
know. He's got to have crabs and minnies to live on."
A few days later the green hylas began to pipe in the swamps, the
bullfrogs drummed among the pools in the bottom, the doves cooed
in the thickets, and the breath of spring was in the nostrils of
all creation, for the wind was heavy with the pungent odor of
catkin pollen. The spring flowers were two inches high. The
peonies and rhubarb were pushing bright yellow and red cones
through the earth. The old gander, leading his flock along the
Wabash, had hailed passing flocks bound northward until he was
hoarse; and the Brahma rooster had threshed the yellow dorkin
until he took refuge under the pig pen, and dare not stick out
his unprotected head.
The doors had stood open at supper time, and Dannie staid up
late, mending and oiling the harness.
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