half of the brow; it shaded the eyes, then turned abruptly and
became lost among the leaves, but reappeared in a big rosette of folds
underneath the girl's chin. The face of the little girl looked very
astonished, she was just about to laugh; the smile already hovered
in the eyes. Suddenly he, who stood there singing in the midst of the
downpour, took a few steps to the side, saw the red shawl, the face, the
big brown eyes, the astonished little open mouth; instantly his position
became awkward, in surprise he looked down himself; but in the same
moment a small cry was heard, the projecting branch swayed violently,
the red end of the shawl disappeared in a flash, the girl's face
disappeared, and there was a rustling and rustling further and further
away behind the hazelbushes. Then he ran. He did not know why, he did
not think at all. The gay mood, which the rainstorm had called forth,
welled up in him again, and he ran after the face of the little girl.
It did not enter his head that it was a person he pursued. To him it
was only the face of a little girl. He ran, it rustled to the right, it
rustled to the left, it rustled in front, it rustled behind, he rustled,
she rustled, and all these sounds and the running itself excited him,
and he cried: "Where are you? Say cuckoo!" Nobody answered. When he
heard his own voice, he felt just a little uneasy, but he continued
running; then a thought came to him, only a single one, and he murmured
as he kept on running: "What am I going to say to her? What am I
going to say to her?" He was approaching a big bush, there she had hid
herself, he could just see a corner of her skirt. "What am I going to
say to her? What am I going to say to her?" he kept on murmuring while
he ran. He was quite near the bush, then turned abruptly, ran on still
murmuring the same, came out upon the open road, ran a distance, stopped
abruptly and burst out laughing, walked smiling quietly a few paces,
then burst out laughing loudly again, and did not cease laughing all the
way along the hedge.

It was on a beautiful autumn day; the fall of the foliage was going
on apace and the path which led to the lake was quite covered with the
citron-yellow leaves from the elms and maples; here and there were spots
of a darker foliage. It was very pleasant, very clean to walk on this
tigerskin-carpet, and to watch the leaves fall down like snow; the birch
looked even lighter and more graceful with its branches almost