Some sparrows came out from the copse, [Footnote: Copse: a wood of small
trees.] and he stopped and saw one of them perch on a stalk of wheat,
with one foot above the other sideways, so that he could pick at the ear
and get the corn. Guido watched the sparrow clear the ear, then he
moved, and the sparrows flew back to the copse, where they chattered at
him for disturbing them. There was a ditch between the corn and the
copse, and a streamlet; he picked up a stone and threw it in, and the
splash frightened a rabbit, who slipped over the bank and into a hole.
The boughs of an oak reached out across to the corn, and made so
pleasant a shade that Guido, who was very hot from walking in the sun,
sat down on the bank of the streamlet with his feet dangling over it,
and watched the floating grass sway slowly as the water ran. Gently he
leaned back till his back rested on the sloping ground--he raised one
knee, and left the other foot over the verge where the tip of the
tallest rushes touched it. Before he had been there a minute he
remembered the secret which a fern had taught him.

First, if he wanted to know anything, or to hear a story, or what the
grass was saying, or the oak-leaves singing, he must be careful not to
interfere as he had done just now with the butterfly by trying to catch
him. Fortunately, that butterfly was a nice butterfly, and very
kindhearted, but sometimes, if you interfered with one thing, it would
tell another thing, and they would all know in a moment, and stop
talking, and never say a word. Once, while they were all talking
pleasantly, Guido caught a fly in his hand; he felt his hand tickle as
the fly stepped on it, and he shut up his little fist so quickly he
caught the fly in the hollow between the palm and his fingers. The fly
went buzz, and rushed to get out, but Guido laughed, so the fly buzzed
again, and just told the grass, and the grass told the bushes, and
everything knew in a moment, and Guido never heard another word all that