motes of tbe 



it never did in January or June, and for me it is a 

 sign that spring is coming. Does the chickadee 

 know about actinism, but by another name ? To- 

 day there was no midwinter cheer, delightful as 

 this is, in the wee bird's call, but a suggestive, an- 

 ticipatory ring that brought up a vision of the first 

 flowers of spring. The season may be weeks upon 

 the way, snow-bound and all that, but the sign of 

 the cedar will remain. The horizon will remain 

 as clearly outlined as does the tree that towers 

 above me. I have faith in this springtide light 

 that knows no wavering; this kindly light of a 

 promise that has never failed. 



And so, too, has the life about me like confi- 

 dence. Even now, sheltered by last year's leaves, 

 are swelling buds, and frogs are astir in the warm 

 waters of the throbbing springs. This clear, white 

 light is a happy medium for sound, and the whistle 

 of the red-bird has the ring of a silver bell. The 

 gentle hint of bud and bird to enjoy in anticipa- 

 tion should never be disregarded. Not that, in 

 nature, realization falls short of expectation, as is 

 almost the usual course of human affairs, but why 

 not get a double measure of blessing, if we can ? 

 There will be many storms and much snow and 

 ice, it may be, before we see a green leaf, but these 

 cannot dim the magic light or blot out the cedar 

 that stands upon the river shore, signaling that 

 the world awaits the coming season. 



This light is no fancy of a fevered brain, to 

 48 



