eless atoms scooting across reaches of sunlight. I can hear the
continuous howl which accompanied our play, and can see that ragged,
parched field spreading, save for the cluster of boys, wide and silent
to the further, greener fields, where the cows were lying down in great
coloured lumps, and one antic deer, a pet, would make such astonishing
journeys, jumping the entire circuit of the field on four thin and
absolutely rigid legs; for when it made these peculiar excursions it
never seemed to use its legs--these were held quite rigidly, and the
deer bounded by some powerful, spring-like action, its brown coat
flashing in the sunlight, and its movement a rhythmic glory which the
boys watched with ecstasy and laughter.

An old ass was native to that field also. He had been a bright,
kind-hearted donkey at one time: a donkey whose nose might be tickled,
and who would allow one to climb upon his back. But the presence of
boys grew disturbing as he grew old, and the practical jokes of which
his youth took no heed induced a kind of insanity in his latter age.
He took to kicking the cows as they browsed peacefully, and, later, he
developed a horrid appetite for fowl, and would stalk and kill and eat
hens whenever possible. Later still he directed this unhealthy
appetite towards small boys, and after he had eaten part of one lad's
shoulder and the calf from another boy's leg he disappeared--whether he
was sold to some innocent person, or had been slaughtered mysteriously,
we did not know. We professed to believe that he had died of the
horrible taste of the boys he had bitten, and, afterwards, whenever we
played cannibals, we refused, greatly to their chagrin, to kill and eat
these two boys, on the ground that their flesh was poisonous; but the
others we slaughtered and fed on with undiminished gusto.

There were only two trees in the field--great, gnarled monsters casting
a deep shade. In that shade the grass grew long and green and juicy.
After a game the boys would fling themselves down in the shadow of the
trees to chew the sweet grass, and play "knifey," and talk.--Such
talk!--endless and careless, and loud as the converse of young bulls.
What did we talk about? Delightful and inconsequent shoutings--

"That is a hawk up there, he's going to soar. How does he keep so
steady without moving his wings? Watch now! down he drops like a
stone. . . . If you give your rabbit too many cabbage leaves he'll die
of the gripes. . .