And look here." He had turned
over on to his face, and Richard and I did the same, whilst Sandy
fumbled among the bleached grass and brown leaves.
"Hyacinths," said Richard, as Sandy displayed the green tops of them.
"As thick as peas," said Sandy. "This bank will be blue in a few
weeks; and fiddle-heads everywhere. There will be no end of ferns. May
to any extent--it's only in bud yet--and there's a wren's nest in
there----" At this point he rolled suddenly over on to his back and
looked up.
"A lark," he explained; "there was one singing its head off, this
morning. I say, Dick, this will be a good field for a kite, won't it?
_But wait a bit_."
After every fresh thing that Sandy showed us in our field, he always
finished by saying, "_Wait a bit"_; and that was because there was
always something else better still.
"There's a brook at the bottom there," he said, "with lots of
fresh-water shrimps. I wonder whether they would boil red. _But wait a
bit_. This hedge, you see, has got a very high bank, and it's worn
into kind of ledges. I think we could play at 'shops' there--_but wait
a bit_."
"It's almost _too_ good, Sandy dear!" said I, as we crossed the field
to the opposite hedge.
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