His feet sank in the damp earth at the foot of the hill, and he laughed as he leaped across Singing Water.
"You noisy chatterbox!" cried the man.

"The impetus of coming down the curves of the hill keeps you talking all the way across this muck bed to the lake.

With small work I can make you a thing of beauty.

A few bushes grubbed, a little deepening where you spread too much, and some more mallows along the banks will do the trick.

I must attend to you soon." "Now what does the boy want ?" laughed a white-haired old woman, as the Harvester entered the door.