Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1882-12-22
A MeanGerinx KSrOOk

Meandcring Brook.
ITS DEVIOUS COURSE AND ITS soLILo GUY TO THE
FLOWERS.
wish owned a farm just a few miles west
of Cadiz Junction. 1 don't care cent for the
farm, but there runs through it the crookedest
little brook you ever saw. The star route bust
ness is straight as the golden rule in COM
parison with it. Crooked? 1t goes wandering
through the green meadow as though all the
year were June. and it had nothing to do but
kill time and loiter about in shady hooks and
sunny beaches. Crooked? Not a slver-plated
sinner that flashes his glittering scales in the
sunlight down in the -lmpid ripples can tell
whether he IS going up stream or down.
The purple-plumed iron weed, and the
other with stately grace across the
singing brook, don't know whether they are
standing on opposite sides. or If they are
on the same side, which side it is. All the
way across the meadow it plays hide and seek
with itself, boxing the compass in its erratic
wanderlngs every hundred feet. 1t came into
the meadow, think, when the wind anemones
were blooming In the lee of the hills that fringe
the farm. "Oh, my beautiful darllngs," it said.
II will stay here near you" But the wind
their blue eyes and the buttercups shone in the
grasses of the meadow. Il have lost my sweet
hearts," said tickle little brook, "but the
meadow is beautiful since you came into it, and
will stay here till you are gone" And it
turned again and loitered to the north, where
the wind flowers died, and eddied to the east,
where bank Of violets looked shyly down at
him with their great purple blue eyes, and he
strOl1ed to the south. where the buttercups.
none abashed, laughed merrily in the golden
sunlight, and he sauntered to the west. where
the wind rose, shvering q little, was just try
ing on her new spring dress, which wasn't long
enough yet to cover her round, wine red
arms. And by and bye the viOlets closed their
dear blue eyes, and the buttercups faded, and
the poor little brook, who had got back nicely
to the place where ne ran under the fence to
get into the meadow when he first saw the
flowers rippled slowly over to the wild rose
again, who was now in full dress and wore her
lovely pink bonnet, and had clusters of buds all
the way from her throat and shoulders down to
her waist. "Ah, me-" he murmured, my
friends are gone, and was going to run down
to the sea and drown myself. But you are so
lovely want you to stay here where may see
you. And 80 violet and buttercup were laid
away with poor little bloodroot and sailor
breeches and by this time the little brook had
SO many playmates that wild rose and sweet
brier only saw him when he came around to
that corner OF the meadow. He ran about all
the time singing down little runs with the
most inlmitable triIs. babbling with fam
lily of great hard-headed rocks that had
settled on the edge OF pool and gone into the
moss business, whispering to the blue flags clus-
tered under the low bank, playing with the
tall reeds that ringed the still pools and linger-
ing long time with the groups Of colts foot
where the waters were shallow. There were so
many things to see and so much to say in this
meadow, no wonder the little brook ran about
in it all summer, before, at last, when the wild
rose had thrown away the pretty pink bonnet
and put on the little red winter hood, and the
rushes were brown and the colts foot withered
and the golden sod was gray and the purple
iron weed was plumed with tufts Of feathery
brown, it turned to the lower end of the mead
ing away to the Muskingum, to get down to the
Ohio and Mississippi before the winter caught it
and fastened it to the meadow for the next five
months.
don't care very much to stray along the
bank of canal, but would like to saunter
along the BANKS Of that little Ohio brook. And
think it would take just about a week to cross
that one meadow.