338 AFTERMATH 



and following Time o' Year's river road toward 

 Tree -bridge, tree - shrub and undergrowth grew 

 rich again, and throughout that well-known way, 

 November strung for us, and for the birds' behoof, 

 a magic rosary of Winter berries of which, as the 

 beads should be told over, week by week, one 

 would vanish, then another, until, when not one 

 remained, Spring would be here. 



The sound of the ax came from the charcoal 

 clearing over the mountain beyond the bridge, but 

 the rumble and jar of the clumsy gear of the old 

 cider -mill was absent; a year ago its belting had 

 been unshipped for the last time. The door of 

 Time o' Year's cabin was closed, but there was 

 the fresh earth of recent footprints on the step. 

 Upon the window-sill cracked corn was scattered, 

 a bundle of unthreshed rye leaned against the 

 well -curb, and a shock or two of buckwheat was 

 propped between the straggling canes of the half- 

 wild Blackberry bushes, while a fat ham rind wired 

 to the bluebirds' apple tree, showed that, though 

 human hands now stretched out to him, this fol- 

 lower of the wood path was, as ever, mindful of 

 his winged fellows and their Winter poverty, 



A figure appeared a few rods below the cabin, 

 carrying some sort of burden that hid the face at 



