A little bird was singing somewhere near the window.

From where Franklin sat he could see the green grass just starting, over in the courthouse yard.

A long and lazy street lay in perspective before the window, and along it, out beyond the confines of the town, there reached the flat monotony of the dark prairie soil.
The leaves of the soft maples were beginning to show over there, near the village church.

A dog crossed the street, pausing midway of the crossing to scratch his ear.

The cart of the leading grocer was hitched in front of his store, and an idle citizen or two paused near by to exchange a morning greeting.