3O THE COMING OF SPRING 



vigorous Cinnamon Fern and others of its family 

 were emerging from their woolly winter wraps. 

 Light clouds continually veiled the sun and prom- 

 ised a shower, the password that alone could fling 

 wide the door for Spring's entrance. 



Soon again the landscape barrenness was broken. 

 From across a narrow railway curve waved white 

 plumes of Shadbush, preceding the downy leaves 

 on the leaden -hued stalks. 



Obeying an impulse, I gathered an armful of 

 this April snow that fell over my shoulders in soft 

 .flakes even as I brought it back to fasten some 

 twigs on Nell's collar and use the rest for a lap- 

 robe. 



The clouds were now gathering fast, and loneli- 

 ness seemed to come with them. It takes either 

 health and wildly good spirits, or else philosophy, 

 to make a solitary trip in the woods endurable. 

 The former are preferable as companions, because 

 outdoor philosophy is possible only in a rather argu- 

 mentative mood, which is at variance with the 

 physical exhilaration and mental calm that we seek 

 in fresh air. But out in the open it is different, 

 for when the sun shines there is not a shadow to 

 hide even the ghost of loneliness. 



A drop of rain fell on my nose; another, and 



