all the last week!"

"Why should that make it a grand time?" I asked.

"Because the animals there are all burrowers," he answered, "--like the
field-mice and the moles here.--They will be, for ages to come."

"How do you know that, if I may be so bold?" I rejoined.

"As any one would who had been there to see," he replied. "It is a great
sight, until you get used to it, when the earth gives a heave, and
out comes a beast. You might think it a hairy elephant or a
deinotherium--but none of the animals are the same as we have ever
had here. I was almost frightened myself the first time I saw the
dry-bog-serpent come wallowing out--such a head and mane! and SUCH
eyes!--but the shower is nearly over. It will stop directly after the
next thunder-clap. There it is!"

A flash came with the words, and in about half a minute the thunder.
Then the rain ceased.

"Now we should be going!" said the raven, and stepped to the front of
the porch.

"Going where?" I asked.

"Going where we have to go," he answered. "You did not surely think you
had got home? I told you there was no going out and in at pleasure until
you were at home!"

"I do not want to go," I said.

"That does not make any difference--at least not much," he answered.
"This is the way!"

"I am quite content where I am."

"You think so, but you are not. Come along."

He hopped from the porch onto the grass, and turned, waiting.

"I will not leave the house to-day," I said with obstinacy.

"You will come into the garden!" rejoined the raven.

"I give in so far," I replied, and stepped from the porch.

The sun broke through the clouds, and the raindrops flashed and sparkled
on the grass. The raven was walking over it.

"You will wet your feet!" I cried.

"And mire my beak," he answered, immediately plunging it deep in the
sod, and drawing out a great wriggling red worm. He threw back his head,
and tossed it in the air. It spread great wings, gorgeous in red and
black, and soared aloft.

"Tut! tut!" I exclaimed; "you mistake, Mr. Raven: worms are not the
larvae of butterflies!"

"Never mind," he croaked; "it will do for once! I'm not a reading man
at present, but sexton at the--at a certain graveyard--cemetery, more
properly--in--at--no matter where!"

"I see! you can't keep your spade still: and when you have nothing to
bury, you must dig something up! Only you should mind what it is before
you make it fly! No creature should be allowed to forge