Writing of the finding of a Field Sparrows nest near the top of a hill, some one has said: How beautiful for situation is this tiny cottage on the hill! Here the feathered poets may sit on their leafy verandas, look down into the green valleys and compose verses on the pastoral attractions of Nature. One is almost tempted to spin a romance about the happy couple.
DISHRAG VINES
Margie was cross. It was a rainy day, and she was having to sew; two things she hated.
I think it might rain on school days. And I wish dish-cloths had never been invented, she exclaimed, jerking her thread into a tangle.
You ought to move down south, quietly said her aunt.
Why? Dont they have rain and dish-cloths there?
Yes, of course they do; and I will tell you a true story, if you will promise not to complain the least bit for the rest of the day.
Margie promised; and, after threading a needle, her aunt began:
When I was in Georgia, last October, I saw a queer vine growing over the porch of an old negros cabin. It looked like a pumpkin vine, with its great coarse leaves, and it had green, gourd-like seed pods, or fruit, hanging all over it. I asked the old colored man, who was hoeing near by, about it, and he said, in surprise: Lawsy me! Didn you neber heerd tell ob a dishrag vine afore?