I 



THE COMING OF 

 SPRING 



'HEN Time o' Year padlocked his 

 cabin door and with his trout pole 

 under his arm wafted across the 

 meadow path until he vanished like a 

 shadow between the willows, the hillside 

 people knew that, whatever other signs might 

 fail, Spring was surely at hand. 



Time o' Year made no pretentions to weather 

 prophecy in fact, he was altogether an unpre- 

 tentious mortal, coming, going, and biding his 

 own time silently, like the spirit of some straight 

 white frost -shaft. Yet his smile was never frosty. 

 It came far back from his deep -set eyes and quiv- 

 ered among his wrinkles whenever he was ques- 

 tioned about the state of the woods, the height of 

 the river at the remoter bridges or the prospect of 

 trout catching, until the questioner always felt that 

 the old man was possessed of secrets told him by 

 no one but the Magician himself, and which he 

 was pledged not to reveal. 



