We separate--going one this way, one that--and, in silence and gravity, pace with bent heads and down-turned eyes through the fine, short grass.
Excitement and emulation keep us dumb, for let who will--_blase_ and used up--deny it, but there is an excitement, wholesome and hearty, in _seeking_, and a joy pure and unadulterated in finding, mushrooms in a probable field in the hopeful morning; whether the mushroom be a patriarch whose gills are browned with age, and who is big enough to be an umbrella for the fairy people, or a little milk-white button, half hidden in daisies and trefoil.

Sometimes a cry of rage and anguish bursts from one or other of us who has been the dupe of a puff-ball family, and who is satiating his or her revenge by stamping on the deceiver's head, and reducing its fair, round proportions to a flat and fleshy pulp.

We search long and diligently, and our efforts are blessed with an unwonted success.

By the time that the sun has attained height enough in the heavens to make his power tyrannically felt, our baskets are filled.

Tou Tou has to throw away her wild-roses, limp and flaccid, into the dust of the lane.