Which was all very sensible of
Cyrus.
CHAPTER XV
THE RAPE OF THE LOCK
June was crowded full of interest that year. We gathered in with
its sheaf of fragrant days the choicest harvest of childhood.
Things happened right along. Cecily declared she hated to go to
sleep for fear she might miss something. There were so many dear
delights along the golden road to give us pleasure--the earth
dappled with new blossom, the dance of shadows in the fields, the
rustling, rain-wet ways of the woods, the faint fragrance in
meadow lanes, liltings of birds and croon of bees in the old
orchard, windy pipings on the hills, sunset behind the pines,
limpid dews filling primrose cups, crescent moons through
darklings boughs, soft nights alight with blinking stars. We
enjoyed all these boons, unthinkingly and light-heartedly, as
children do. And besides these, there was the absorbing little
drama of human life which was being enacted all around us, and in
which each of us played a satisfying part--the gay preparations
for Aunt Olivia's mid-June wedding, the excitement of practising
for the concert with which our school-teacher, Mr. Perkins, had
elected to close the school year, and Cecily's troubles with Cyrus
Brisk, which furnished unholy mirth for the rest of us, though
Cecily could not see the funny side of it at all.
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