The little frogs that
had piped in the meadows in early spring, croaked as bull-frogs in the
brooks during the summer heats, and then sunk into silence.
The peach
tree budded, blossomed, and bore its fruit. The swallows and martins
came, twittered about the roof, built their nests, reared their young,
held their congress along the eaves, and then winged their flight in
search of another spring. The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet,
dangled in it from the great buttonwood tree that shaded the house,
turned into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of summer, and
disappeared; and finally the leaves of the buttonwood tree turned
yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and whirling
about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was at
hand.
Wolfert gradually awoke from his dream of wealth as the year declined.
He had reared no crop to supply the wants of his household during the
sterility of winter. The season was long and severe, and for the first
time the family was really straightened in its comforts. By degrees a
revulsion of thought took place in Wolfert's mind, common to those
whose golden dreams have been disturbed by pinching realities. The idea
gradually stole upon him that he should come to want. He already
considered himself one of the most unfortunate men in the province,
having lost such an incalculable amount of undiscovered treasure, and
now, when thousands of pounds had eluded his search, to be perplexed
for shillings and pence was cruel in the extreme.
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