It stood on the bank of our little brook. Right where the old elm stood, the bank was quite high, six feet almost. The boughs on the old tree grew very low. I would catch hold of one of those low-hanging boughs. Then, I would give a little run and jump. Away out over the bank and over the brook I would swing!
Oftentimes I would take my patchwork out under the old elm. But soon the patchwork would be on the ground, forgotten, and an idle little girl would be lying flat on the grass, with her hands clasped under her head, looking up into the clear blue sky!
I used to make believe that the white clouds were my ships, coming into harbor under full sail. And I used to make up fine names for my ships, and O, such splendid cargoes as they would be loaded with, all for me—their rich young owner—the idle dreamer in the grass!
O, it was such fun to lie there in the midst of funny daisies with their high white collars, and buttercups with their yellow caps! The roguish little winds would make them bend over and tickle the rosy face of the little girl whom the birds and the brook had almost hushed off to sleep. There would be a soft little touch on my forehead, and then another on my chin, and yet others on my cheeks. Then I would open my eyes and laugh at those funny little white and gold heads, soberly wagging up and down. But once I was rather frightened out under the old elm. I had been lying flat on my back for an hour or two, when I was called. I half raised myself up and answered. My hand was on the ground just where I had been lying. I felt something squirming around my thumb. It was a tiny brown snake! Of course, it was as harmless as a fly, but didn’t I spring to my feet!
When I had to recite a little piece in school or at a church concert, I always used to rehearse that little piece out under the old elm, over and over again.
Percia V. White.
SWINGING ON THE ELM-TREE BOUGH.
Puggie in Disgrace.
