Explore "The Story of Waitstill Baxter" by Kate Douglas Wiggin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
HAYING was over, and the close, sticky dog-days, too, and August was slipping into September. There had been plenty of rain all the season and the countryside was looking as fresh and green as an emerald. The hillsides were already clothed with a verdant growth of new grass and
"The red pennons of the cardinal flowers / Hung motionless upon their upright staves."