fresh air. They quivered appreciations, and some did bow down most to the ground to thank me after I was done.
I proceeded. The day was most warm. When I did cross the creek I looked down it and up it. There were fairy demoiselles near unto the water. Their wings did shimmer in the sunlight. All along its edges the willows were dabbling their toes. Some had waded in a little bit—about enough to get their ankles wet. I looked long looks at them. I knew just how they did feel inside while they were dabbling their toes in the water. It is such a nice feel to have.
I started on. I looked back. I started on. I turned and came back a little ways—just to take a good-bye look. The willows waved their hands to me. They called to me, "Petite Françoise, petite Françoise." I hurried on with the eggs. I had got twice as far as I did get before. Then I started back to the creek. I ran all the way. When I arrived I took off my shoes. I hung my stockings on a willow branch. Then I sat on the edge of the bank and dabbled my toes. One drinks in so much inspiration while one is dabbling one's toes in a willow creek. And one does hear the talkings of plants that dwell near unto the water.
While I was dabbling my toes, my legs did have longings to go in wading, but I went not in. Something might have happened to what was left of that dozen eggs the mamma was sending straight
