and Mr. Zuckerman climbed into the seat and drove into the field.
All morning you could hear the rattle of the machine as it went round and round,
while the tall grass fell down behind the cutter bar in long green swathes.
Next day, if there was no thunder shower, all hands would help rake and pitch and load,
and the hay would be hauled to the barn in the high hay wagon, with Fern and Avery riding at the top of the load.
Then the hay would be hoisted, sweet and warm, into the big loft,
until the whole barn seemed like a wonderful bed of timothy and clover.
It was fine to jump in, and perfect to hide in.
And sometimes Avery would find a little grass snake in the hay, and would add it to the other things in his pocket.
Early summer days are a jubilee time for birds. In the fields, around the house, in the barn,
in the woods, in the swamp—everywhere love and songs and nests and eggs.
From the edge of the woods, the white-throated sparrow (which must come all the way from Boston)
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