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Brown
butterfly
time
had
come
.
The
edge
of
the
swale
was
filled
with
milkweed
,
and
other
plants
beloved
of
them
,
and
the
air
was
golden
with
the
flashing
satin
wings
of
the
monarch
,
viceroy
,
and
argynnis
.
They
outnumbered
those
of
any
other
color
three
to
one
.
Among
the
birds
it
really
seemed
as
if
the
little
yellow
fellows
were
in
the
preponderance
.
At
least
,
they
were
until
the
redwinged
blackbirds
and
bobolinks
,
that
had
nested
on
the
upland
,
suddenly
saw
in
the
swamp
the
garden
of
the
Lord
and
came
swarming
by
hundreds
to
feast
and
adventure
upon
it
these
last
few
weeks
before
migration
.
Never
was
there
a
finer
feast
spread
for
the
birds
.
The
grasses
were
filled
with
seeds
:
so
,
too
,
were
weeds
of
every
variety
.
Fall
berries
were
ripe
.
Wild
grapes
and
black
haws
were
ready
.
Bugs
were
creeping
everywhere
.
The
muck
was
yeasty
with
worms
.
Insects
filled
the
air
.
Nature
made
glorious
pause
for
holiday
before
her
next
change
,
and
by
none
of
the
frequenters
of
the
swamp
was
this
more
appreciated
than
by
the
big
black
chickens
.
They
seemed
to
feel
the
new
reign
of
peace
and
fullness
most
of
all
.
As
for
food
,
they
did
not
even
have
to
hunt
for
themselves
these
days
,
for
the
feasts
now
being
spread
before
Little
Chicken
were
more
than
he
could
use
,
and
he
was
glad
to
have
his
parents
come
down
and
help
him
.
He
was
a
fine
,
big
,
overgrown
fellow
,
and
his
wings
,
with
quills
of
jetty
black
,
gleaming
with
bronze
,
were
so
strong
they
almost
lifted
his
body
.
He
had
three
inches
of
tail
,
and
his
beak
and
claws
were
sharp
.
His
muscles
began
to
clamor
for
exercise
.
He
raced
the
forty
feet
of
his
home
back
and
forth
many
times
every
hour
of
the
day
.
After
a
few
days
of
that
,
he
began
lifting
and
spreading
his
wings
,
and
flopping
them
until
the
down
on
his
back
was
filled
with
elm
fiber
.
Then
he
commenced
jumping
.
The
funny
little
hops
,
springs
,
and
sidewise
bounds
he
gave
set
Freckles
and
the
Angel
,
hidden
in
the
swamp
,
watching
him
,
into
smothered
chuckles
of
delight
.
Sometimes
he
fell
to
coquetting
with
himself
;
and
that
was
the
funniest
thing
of
all
,
for
he
turned
his
head
up
,
down
,
from
side
to
side
,
and
drew
in
his
chin
with
prinky
little
jerks
and
tilts
.
He
would
stretch
his
neck
,
throw
up
his
head
,
turn
it
to
one
side
and
smirk
—
actually
smirk
,
the
most
complacent
and
self
-
satisfied
smirk
that
anyone
ever
saw
on
the
face
of
a
bird
.
It
was
so
comical
that
Freckles
and
the
Angel
told
the
Bird
Woman
of
it
one
day
.
When
she
finished
her
work
on
Little
Chicken
,
she
left
them
the
camera
ready
for
use
,
telling
them
they
might
hide
in
the
bushes
and
watch
.
If
Little
Chicken
came
out
and
truly
smirked
,
and
they
could
squeeze
the
bulb
at
the
proper
moment
to
snap
him
,
she
would
be
more
than
delighted
.
Freckles
and
the
Angel
quietly
curled
beside
a
big
log
,
and
with
eager
eyes
and
softest
breathing
they
patiently
waited
;
but
Little
Chicken
had
feasted
before
they
told
of
his
latest
accomplishment
.
He
was
tired
and
sleepy
,
so
he
went
into
the
log
to
bed
,
and
for
an
hour
he
never
stirred
.
They
were
becoming
anxious
,
for
the
light
soon
would
be
gone
,
and
they
had
so
wanted
to
try
for
the
picture
.
At
last
Little
Chicken
lifted
his
head
,
opened
his
beak
,
and
gaped
widely
.
He
dozed
a
minute
or
two
more
.
The
Angel
said
that
was
his
beauty
sleep
.
Then
he
lazily
gaped
again
and
stood
up
,
stretching
and
yawning
.
He
ambled
leisurely
toward
the
gateway
,
and
the
Angel
said
:
“
Now
,
we
may
have
a
chance
,
at
last
.
”
“
I
do
hope
so
,
”
shivered
Freckles
.
