He remembered the
voices he had heard in the little schoolhouse in the spring.
"Jeminy, what are you doing?"
Then Mr. Jeminy raised his head to the sky, in which the first stars of
night were to be seen.
"I am very busy now," he said, proudly.
V
RAIN
From her dormer window, Anna Barly peered out at the wet, gray morning.
The ground was sopping, the trees black with the night's drenching. In
the orchard a sparrow sang an uncertain song; and she heard the
comfortable drip, drip, drip from the eaves. It was damp and fresh at
the window; the breeze, cold and fragrant after rain, made her shiver.
She drew her wrapper closer about her throat, and sat staring out
across the sodden lawn, with idle thoughts for company.
She thought that she was young, and that the world was old: that rain
belonged to youth. Old age should sit in the sun, but youth was best
of all in bad weather. "There's no telling where you are in the rain.
And there's no one spying, for every one's indoors, keeping dry." Yes,
youth is quite a person in the rain.
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