And here are big, tall, half-grown
girls, the quaintest of all, with their awkward movements, and their
laughter, and their earnest occupation with their own little affairs. Now
and again they stop on the bridge to watch the lumbermen at work among the
logs below, and join in the song of the men as they haul--
"_Hoi-aho!_"--and then they giggle and nudge one another and go on.
But there are no birds here.
Strange, that there should be no birds! On quiet evenings, at sunset-time,
the great enclosed pool lies there with its deep waters unmoved; moths and
midges hover above it, the trees on the banks are reflected there, but
there are no birds in the trees. Perhaps it is because of the roar of the
water, that drowns all other sound; birds cannot thrive there, where none
can hear another's song. And so it comes about that the only winged
creatures here are flies and moths. But God alone knows why even the crows
and common birds shun us and our town.
Every small town has its daily event that every one turns out for--and, as
for that, the big towns too, with their promenades.
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