Веснянки

           Besidesthesewereabutterfly-net,anaturalist’stinspecimen-box,abottleofcyanide,aboxofcotton,apaperoflong,steelspecimen-pins,andalettertellingwhatallthesethingswereandhowtousethem.

           Atthediscoveryofeachnewtreasure,Frecklesshouted:“Willyoubelookingatthis,now?”

           Mrs.Duncancried:“Weel,Ibedrawedon!”

           Theeldestboyturnedasomersaultforeveryextra,whilethebaby,tryingtofollowhisexample,bunchedoverinasidewisesprawlandcuthisfootontheaxewithwhichhismotherhadprizedupthebox-lid.Thatsoberedthem,theycarriedthebooksindoors.Mrs.Duncanhadatopshelfinherclosetclearedforthem,farabovethereachofmeddlinglittlefingers.

           WhenFrecklesstartedforthetrailnextmorning,theshiningnewspecimen-boxflashedonhisback.Theblack“chicken,”amerespeckintheblue,caughtthegleamofit.Thefoldednethungbesidetheboy’shatchet,andthebirdbookwasinthebox.Hewalkedthelineandtestedeachsectionscrupulously,watchingeveryfootofthetrail,forhewasdeterminednottoslighthiswork;butifeveraboy“madehasteslowly”inahurry,itwasFrecklesthatmorning.Whenatlasthereachedthespacehehadclearedandplantedaroundhiscase,hisheartswelledwiththeprideofpossessingevensomuchthathecouldcallhisown,whilehisquickeyesfeastedonthebeautyofit.

           Hehadmadealargeroomwiththedoorofthecasesetevenwithonesideofit.Onthreesides,finebigbushesofwildroseclimbedtothelowerbranchesofthetrees.