The clouds go slow across the sky. The water goes slow in the brook. No one seems to be in a hurry. Even the wind walks slow. I think she wears a silk robe to-day. I can hear its faint rustle. I think the wind is dreaming too. With the whispering leaves she sings a dream-song. This is a dream-day. I stopped in the dusty road and looked a long while at the sun. It was round and a bright shining. Then for a little time afterwards, everywhere I looked I saw a tiny bright shining, and there was a queer feeling in my head.
When I was come to the field, Savonarola did look like the flies were giving him some bothers. I took my apron and shooed some of them off. I could only reach a little way up. I have thinks it did help some. The chore boy did not come for some long time. While Savonarola waited his coming, I did give him some more fans with my apron. I had longings for the papa's newspaper. I had thinks I could make that go more far up than I could make my apron go. First I did stand on one side of Savonarola and shake my apron at the flies. Then I did stand on the other side of him. Those flies were most lazy. They did n't want to make moves at all. While I did make tries to make the flies make moves away, I did sing a song of fleurs of grandmère, of fraxinelle, romarin, anemone, narcisse, cornope, oleandre, iris, souci, eglantier, marguerite, aubépine, renoncule, immortelle, éclaire, anemone, myosotis, eglantier, lys, iris, éclaire, dauphinelle,
