The Open Air | Page 2

of golden brown mixed with
rosiness. His blue eyes which had been wide open, as they always were
when full of mischief, became softer, and his long eyelashes drooped
over them. But as the magic did not begin, Guido walked on slowly
into the wheat, which rose nearly to his head, though it was not yet so
tall as it would be before the reapers came. He did not break any of the
stalks, or bend them down and step on them; he passed between them,
and they yielded on either side. The wheat-ears were pale gold, having
only just left off their green, and they surrounded him on all sides as if
he were bathing.
A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots came floating along
the surface of the corn, and played round his cap, which was a little
higher, and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly was inclined to
settle on it. Guido put up his hand to catch the butterfly, forgetting his
secret in his desire to touch it. The butterfly was too quick--with a snap
of his wings disdainfully mocking the idea of catching him, away he
went. Guido nearly stepped on a humble-bee--buzz-zz!--the bee was so
alarmed he actually crept up Guido's knickers to the knee, and even
then knocked himself against a wheat-ear when he started to fly. Guido
kept quite still while the humble-bee was on his knee, knowing that he
should not be stung if he did not move. He knew, too, that humble-bees
have stings though people often say they have not, and the reason
people think they do not possess them is because humble-bees are so
good-natured and never sting unless they are very much provoked.
Next he picked a corn buttercup; the flowers were much smaller than
the great buttercups which grew in the meadows, and these were not
golden but coloured like brass. His foot caught in a creeper, and he
nearly tumbled--it was a bine of bindweed which went twisting round
and round two stalks of wheat in a spiral, binding them together as if
some one had wound string about them. There was one ear of wheat
which had black specks on it, and another which had so much black
that the grains seemed changed and gone leaving nothing but blackness.

He touched it and it stained his hands like a dark powder, and then he
saw that it was not perfectly black as charcoal is, it was a little red.
Something was burning up the corn there just as if fire had been set to
the ears. Guido went on and found another place where there was
hardly any wheat at all, and those stalks that grew were so short they
only came above his knee. The wheat-ears were thin and small, and
looked as if there was nothing but chaff. But this place being open was
full of flowers, such lovely azure cornflowers which the people call
bluebottles.
Guido took two; they were curious flowers with knobs surrounded with
little blue flowers like a lady's bonnet. They were a beautiful blue, not
like any other blue, not like the violets in the garden, or the sky over
the trees, or the geranium in the grass, or the bird's-eyes by the path. He
loved them and held them tight in his hand, and went on, leaving the
red pimpernel wide open to the dry air behind him, but the May-weed
was everywhere. The May-weed had white flowers like a moon-daisy,
but not so large, and leaves like moss. He could not walk without
stepping on these mossy tufts, though he did not want to hurt them. So
he stooped and stroked the moss-like leaves and said, "I do not want to
hurt you, but you grow so thick I cannot help it." In a minute afterwards
as he was walking he heard a quick rush, and saw the wheat-ears sway
this way and that as if a puff of wind had struck them.
Guido stood still and his eyes opened very wide, he had forgotten to cut
a stick to fight with: he watched the wheat-ears sway, and could see
them move for some distance, and he did not know what it was.
Perhaps it was a wild boar or a yellow lion, or some creature no one
had ever seen; he would not go back, but he wished he had cut a nice
stick. Just then a swallow swooped down and came flying over the
wheat so close that Guido almost felt the flutter of his wings, and as he
passed he whispered to Guido that it was only a hare. "Then why did he
run away?" said Guido; "I should not have hurt him." But the swallow
had gone