Woodside | Page 4

charming.
Among other things he said,--
"She shall lean her ear In many a secret place, And beauty born of
murmuring sound Shall pass into her face."
"How can sound show itself in a face, grandmamma?" asked Jack.
"Supposing you heard a loud, sudden scream, you would be startled
and frightened by the cry; if you heard a tremendous clap of thunder,
you might look a little frightened too, but you would also look solemn
and still as you heard the grand sound; but you would have quite
another look if you were lying on your back under a shady tree some
calm summer evening, listening to the low song of the birds, and to the
many sounds that are almost silence."
"Cuckoo! cuckoo!"
"O grandmamma, there's the cuckoo!" cried all the children at once.
"Yes; there are a great many cuckoos about here. They say it is only the
male bird that calls 'Cuckoo,' that the female simply makes a chattering
sound."
"Did you ever see a cuckoo, grandma?"
"No, never a live bird, only one stuffed. I will tell you a story of how I
heard one once. It was about five-and-twenty years ago. I wanted some
primroses for a nosegay. I used to pick the long feathery moss that
grows in these woods and put the primroses among it. I ran across the
road outside of our gates--for I could run in those days--and soon filled
my basket with as many primroses as I wanted. As I was standing
under a large tree, I heard all at once, exactly over my head, a loud,
gruff cry of 'Cuckoo.' I was so startled, the cry was so near, that I
thought it must be a rude man, and I dropped all my primroses and ran

back to the gates.
"Then I thought, 'How foolish of me to be frightened; it is the 18th of
April, the right time for the cuckoo to come back to England from the
warm country where he has been all the winter,--of course it is a real
cuckoo.' So I went back and picked up my primroses, but I heard no
more of that cuckoo.
"I told my children when I came indoors about my adventure; and how
they did laugh at their mother for being frightened at a bird.
"I shall always think, though, that that particular cuckoo must have
caught a bad cold on his long journey to England, or soon after his
arrival, for his voice sounded as if he had a sore throat."
"Now children," said grandmamma, rising from her seat, "it is time we
walked homewards."
As they came near to the house they saw Smut sitting on the door-step,
waiting patiently to be let in at the front door.
Within a short distance of the house was a brook, almost hidden in
places by overhanging bushes and long reedy grass. Then it flowed into
more open ground; but it was very quiet in its flow, for the bed was soft
and not stony.
Of course the next day the children set off for this brook, to listen to its
"murmuring sound." Jack lay down upon the ground and leaned his
head over the brook, thinking he could hear better in that fashion. Mary
said she should sit down by a bend in the stream and be comfortable,
for she was sure she could not listen well if she were afraid of rolling
into the water; while little Annie sat by her sister's side, holding her
hand and shutting her eyes.
If you had seen those children then, you would have wondered what
they were doing, they were so serious and intent; but by the quiet look
upon their faces they seemed to enjoy the music of the softly-flowing
stream. So low was the sound, that you would hardly have noticed it if

you had not been thinking about it.
Often during this visit they would have games at "harking," as they
called it; for they said, "We may as well hear as much as we can, as our
father and uncle and aunts did when they were children." They would
shut their eyes for some minutes, and then they would tell each other
what they had heard. I can tell you their ears grew very sharp with all
this practice; for, like other children, they had their quiet moods, when
under the lofty forest trees or in the garden nooks they would listen, not
for fun but for enjoyment.

III.
TOM'S BIRDS' EGGS.
"The goldfinch, and blackbird, and thrush, Are brimful of music and
glee; They have each got a nest in some bush, And the rook has built
his on a tree."
BERNARD BARTON.
About a mile off, at the other end of the wood, was a