One Maid's Mischief

The blackbirds down in the copse whistling a soft love-song to their silent mates, waiting in their cup-like nests for the first chip of the blotched eggs; Coelebs, the chaffinch, pouring down tinkling strains from the pink-blossomed apple-trees; while the larks high above the young corn and clover, twittered their joyous hymn in rivalling accord to the May-morning sun. The dew lay heavy and cold upon the tawny, sweet-scented wallflowers, and the freshness of feeling in the shade whispered that the silvery whiteness of their hues was not far removed from frost.