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Updated: May 15, 2025
But she said no word, sitting nested among the greenwood with passionate, proud silence, until he had sued long for peace; then in sudden new friendship she had taken his hand and led him through the swamp, showing him all the beauty of her swamp-world great shadowy oaks and limpid pools, lone, naked trees and sweet flowers; the whispering and flitting of wild things, and the winging of furtive birds.
The heralds of spring, the warm, southern breezes, which brought trailing flights of geese and wild duck winging northward, and turned the pallor of the snow to a dirty drab hue, like a soiled white dress, had already swept across the plains. The sunlight was fiercely blinding.
For now he knew what to look for, and it did not take long until he knew it well. Finally he got so he could see and understand what the people around him were doing not through his own direct observation, but through the pigeon's senses. He sent several winging high into the air, and got a good perspective of the entire city.
Kay gets them all winging." "Even so, he will not so far forget his ancestral pride as to admit it, or even give the slightest intimation of it." "He is a prideful sort of chap. I noticed that. Still, he's not a prig." "He has pride of race, John. Pride of ancestry, pride of tradition, pride of an ancient, undisputed leadership in his own community.
He had observed the birds winging home to these woods; they had reached it before him, and the chirp of their welcome to their nests was sinking into silence; but the whirring beetles were abroad. The frogs were scarcely heard from the marshes below; but the lizards and crickets vied with the young monkeys in noise, while the wood was all alight with luminous insects.
From where he stood too he could catch a glimpse of the shining reaches of the river with the green slopes on the further side; and the freedom and beauty of the sight, the delicate haze that hung over the water, the birds winging their way across, the boats plying to and fro, struck a vivid contrast to the grim fatality of the prison and the scaffold.
The sweet sounds they followed, The gasping cod swallow'd 'Twas wonderful, really; And turbot and flounder, 'Mid fish that were rounder, Just caper'd as gaily. John-dories came tripping; Dull hake, by their skipping, To frisk it seem'd given; Bright mackrel went springing, Like small rainbows winging Their flight up to heaven.
And then, and then only, will it become your food. And how are we to do that if, day in and day out, and week in and week out, and year in and year out, with some of us, there be scarce a thought turned to Him; scarce a desire winging its way to Him; scarce one moment of quiet contemplation of these great truths.
But in very brief time Steve Packard's loitering pace was exchanged for red-hot haste as the sounds winging outward from the bunk-house met him, stilled his singing, and informed him that men were battling in a fury which must have something of sheer blood-thirst in it. He raced to the closed door, swung down from the saddle, and threw the door open.
There was a poignant charm in the air a smell of freshly uncovered sod, a width and splendor in the view which exalted the movers beyond words. The prairie was ridged here and there with ice, and the swales were full of posh and water. Geese were slowly winging their way against the wind, and ducks were sitting here and there on the ice-rimmed ponds.
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