United States or Montenegro ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
But with the kids, it was different particularly the little girl. The first thing I ever got from her was a lovely look, the first time ever I set eyes on her she came with an underwing moth. I'd be a poor sort that wouldn't be willing to be spilt like water and scattered like dust, if she needed me now, wouldn't I?" "But," said I, perplexed, "what can you do?
It was a dry place. A toad was there. And the red underwing had circled round the light and flashed and gone. The red underwing had never come back, though Jacob had waited. It was after twelve when he crossed the lawn and saw his mother in the bright room, playing patience, sitting up. "How you frightened me!" she had cried. She thought something dreadful had happened.
The sun beat straight upon them. The upper wings of the moth which Jacob held were undoubtedly marked with kidney-shaped spots of a fulvous hue. But there was no crescent upon the underwing. The tree had fallen the night he caught it. There had been a volley of pistol-shots suddenly in the depths of the wood. And his mother had taken him for a burglar when he came home late.
"I'll take him, my dear, and thank you there's always a demand for the Catocalæ. And you may call him an Underwing, if you prefer that's his common name." "I got to thinking," said the little girl, thoughtfully, lifting her clear and candid eyes to John Flint's.
The language in which they are written has no alphabet, and cannot be reduced to order. It can only be understood by the heart and spirit. Look down into this foxglove bell and you will know that; look long and lovingly at this blue butterfly's underwing, and a feeling will rise to your consciousness.
Her name, her secure position, her happiness, the hopes that the coming years were to transform into realities oh, I like to think that Mary Virginia saw all this, in one of those lightning-flashes of spiritual insight that reveal more than all one's slower years; I like to think she saw it given her freely, nobly, with joy, a glorious love-gift from the limping man into whose empty hand she had one day put a little gray underwing!
That is pretty sport, too, to creep under an oak with low-hanging boughs, and in the silence of a glowing autumn-day linger by the hour together in a trance of warm stillness, watching the light tracery of shadow and sun on that smooth sward, only now and then roused by the fleet rush of a deer through the wood, or the brisk chatter of a plume-tailed squirrel, till one hears a distant, sharp, clucking chuckle, and in an instant more pulls the trigger, and upsets a grand old cock, every bronzed feather glittering in the sunshine, and now splashed with scarlet blood, the delicate underwing ground into down as he rolls and flutters; for the first shot rarely kills at once with an amateur; there's too much excitement.
A thick, shaggy beard fell in a silvery sheen over his breast. His hair, gray as the underwing of the owl whose note he forged, straggled in uncut disarray from under the drooping rim of a battered and weatherworn hat.
And he woke Rebecca, who had to be up so early. There he stood pale, come out of the depths of darkness, in the hot room, blinking at the light. No, it could not be a straw-bordered underwing. The mowing-machine always wanted oiling. Barnet turned it under Jacob's window, and it creaked creaked, and rattled across the lawn and creaked again. Now it was clouding over.
Word Of The Day