The thrush became wild in fear for its young. Again
and again its body flashed in silent deadly attack. The snake, rearing
its head from the ground, its jaws wide, struck back at the fluttering
terror above it.

The snake reached the nest. It writhed over the edge. With a quick,
sharp note the bird flung itself upon its enemy. A blur of brown
feathers and a glimpse of a twisting, bluish body were all that the
boy could see. A moment, and the snake writhed out from the nest. The
thrush lay on the ground, blood crimsoning the speckled white of its
breast. Its wings fluttered slightly, then the body was still.

The boy leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes. He released
his breath sharply. His throat contracted so that he almost choked. He
had always had a horror of seeing a creature maimed or killed. He felt
it doubly now, and he might have helped the bird,--no one else could.
Yet it was only a bird; such things happened continually--they had to
be: but he could not forget the flutterings of the dying thrush. Then,
suddenly, he remembered his mother.

After a long time, he opened his eyes. The trees, the sky,--all the
country was asleep; the absolute tranquillity of space lay lightly in
the air and bathed the earth with a drowsy light. And the boy yielded
himself to the silence. His eyes mirrored the mystic, reflective mood
of the afternoon.

In the west, ragged clouds massed together and spread over the sky,
their long streamers, black where they reached the sun, darkening the
earth with the gray misty twilight of the storm. Then a cool breeze
sprang up, the clouds receded, and the sun shone out.

The boy became conscious that it was late and jumped down from his seat.
He felt strangely cheerful. The confused emotions which had raged in him
all the afternoon had spent themselves, and he whistled as he walked on
between the trees. When he turned into the lane near the house, he could
see, in the west, a few black masses of cloud, vivid against the crimson
flame of the sky--wandering spirits in an infinity of lonely space.

At the windmill he stopped and looked toward the house. The kitchen was
lighted; the rest of the house was dark and shadowy. A thin spiral of
smoke twisted up until it became lost in the gray light. How home-like
it all was! The boy walked quickly toward the house, took the milk pails
from the hooks on the porch and went into the barn. The horses did
not raise their heads from the grai