Poverty sat cross-legged on the farm, and the Maltbys were ragged.
In a tall wild pear tree a congress of bluejays squawked a cacphonous argument.
"How run-down and slovenly," she thought. "How utterly lovely and slipshod."
Among the branches of the trees a tiny white fragment of mist appeared and delicately floated along just over the treetops. In a moment another translucent shred joined it, and another and another. They sailed along like a half-materialized ghost, growing larger and larger until suddenly they struck a column of warm air and rose into the sky to become little clouds.
1 comment:
"a congress of bluejays squawked a cacophonous argument." is a little past the middle of the story. It is chapter VI, in which Miss Morgan is walking to the Maltby's farm. I never knew that a group of bluejays was called a congress.
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