152 LAND OF THE LINGERING SNOW. 



circled around the cottage, and chimney-swifts 

 dotted the sky with their short, sharp notes. 

 Loons were making wild clamor on the lake, the 

 phoebe note of the chickadee came like a cool 

 breeze from the orchard, and up in the sugar- 

 maple grove a pigeon woodpecker was calling 

 " flick-flick-flick-flick-flick-flick " a great many 

 times in succession. The air was superlatively 

 pure, sparkling, full of that which makes deep 

 breathing a pleasure. The great mountain 

 peak stood out sharply against the northern sky, 

 and the morning sunbeams came back dancing 

 from its snowdrifts. Peace pervaded every- 

 thing, yet a thrill of life was trembling in earth 

 and air and water. Spring, real spring was 

 present in that land, with no threat of east wind 

 to chill it. In the woods, beside the roads, 

 the arbutus grew in masses. Its leaves were 

 flattened to earth, just as the snow had left 

 them. To find the blossoms one had to run a 

 finger down the stems and lift up the shy 

 flowers to the light of day. Their perfume made 

 the air precious. The straw-colored bells of the 

 uvularia swung in the breeze. In the woods 

 by the brookside the painted and the dark red 

 trilliums hid their beauty, but in every grove, 

 upon the sides of the mountains, and along the 

 shores of the lakes, the blossoms of the maples 

 glowed red in the sunlight. 



