The heat of the past few days had dried the water around and through the Limberlost, so that it was possible to cross it on foot in almost any direction--if one had an idea of direction and did not become completely lost in its rank tangle of vegetation and bushes.
The brighter-hued flowers were opening.

The trumpet-creepers were flaunting their gorgeous horns of red and gold sweetness from the tops of lordly oak and elm, and below entire pools were pink-sheeted in mallow bloom.
The heat was doing one other thing that was bound to make Freckles, as a good Irishman, shiver.

As the swale dried, its inhabitants were seeking the cooler depths of the swamp.

They liked neither the heat nor leaving the field mice, moles, and young rabbits of their chosen location.

He saw them crossing the trail every day as the heat grew intense.