And yet we get kind of low in our minds, too. The
harvest is past, the summer is ended. It's gone, the good playtime
when we didn't have to go to school, when the only foot-covering we
wore was a rag around one big toe or the other; the days when we
could stay in swimming all day long except mealtimes; the days of
Sabbath-school picnics and excursions to the Soldiers' Home - it's
gone. The harvest is past, the summer is ended. The green and
leafy things have heard the word, and most of them are taking it
pretty seriously, judging by their looks. But the maples and some
more of them, particularly the maples, with daredevil recklessness,
have resolved, as it were, to die with their boots on, and flame
out in such violent and unbelievable colors that we feel obliged
to take testimony in certain outrageous cases, and file away the
exhibits in the Family Bible where nobody will bother them. The
harvest is past, the summer is ended. Rainy days you can see how
played-out and forlorn the whole world looks. But at Fair time,
when the sun shines bright, it appears right cheerful.
It seems to me the Fair lasted three days. One of them was a
holiday from school, I know, and unless I'm wrong, it wasn't on
the first day, because then they were getting the things in, and
it wasn't on the last day, because then they were taking the things
out, so it must have been on the middle day, when everybody went.
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