Monteagle by Pansy

IT was Sunday afternoon-an August Sunday, bright and beautiful. "Very warm," the city papers said, in the next day's report, but on Monteagle a steady wind fluttered the branches of the many trees all day, and the birds were singing merrily. Under the shadow of one of the great old trees, Effie Hammond played about according to her own sweet will; Dilly, on the grass near at hand, an open book in her lap, keeping careful guard over the small feet of her charge, all unknown to them; they thought they were free to go where they pleased, therefore their owner was happy. Hart Hammond strolling about, uncertain what to do with himself, presently came that way, stopped for a minute to tease little Effie by tickling her nose with one of the long grasses, then came and threw himself on the grass, not far from Dilly.

"What a tiresomely slow day this is! Seems to me there have been twenty-seven hours since breakfast, each of them a hundred and eighty minutes long."