Yonder By The Limes The Rabbits Ventured Out
For A Stray Bunch Of Grass Not Quite Covered By The Drift, Tired, No
Doubt, Of The Bitter Bark Of The Ash-Rods That They Had Nibbled In The
Night.
As they scampered, each threw up a white cloud of snow-dust behind
him.
Yet a few days and the sward grew greener. The pale winter hue,
departing as the spring mist came trailing over, caught for a while in
the copse, and, lingering there, the ruddy buds and twigs of the limes
were refreshed. The larks rose a little way to sing in the moist air. A
rook, too, perching on the top of a low tree, attempted other notes than
his monotonous caw. So absorbed was he in his song that you might have
walked under him unnoticed. He uttered four or five distinct sounds that
would have formed a chant, but he paused between each as if uncertain of
his throat. Then, as the sun shone, with a long-drawn 'ca-awk' he flew to
find his mate, for it would soon be time to repair the nest in the limes.
The butterflies came again and the year was completed, yet it seemed but
a few days to the squire. Perhaps if he lived for a thousand years, after
a while he would wonder at the rapidity with which the centuries slipped
by.
By the limes there was a hollow - the little circular copse was on the
slope - and jays came to it as they worked from tree to tree across the
park.
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