4 THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



Then, you see, my chapter in the book will become 

 your own. 



There are so many persons who do not know one 

 bird from another, one tree from another, one flower 

 from another ; who would not know one season from 

 another did they not see the spring hats in the mil- 

 liner's window or feel the need of a 

 change of coat. I hope you are not 

 one of them. I hope you are 

 on the watch, instead, for the 

 first phcebe or the earliest 

 bloodroot, or are listening to 

 catch the shrill, brave peep- 

 ing of the little tree-frogs, 

 the hylas. 



As for me, I am on the watch 

 for the shadbush. Oh, yes, spring 

 comes before the shadbush opens, but 

 it is likely not to stay. The wild geese 

 trumpet spring in the gray March skies 

 as they pass ; a February rain, after a 

 long cold season of snow, spatters your face with 

 spring ; the swelling buds on the maples, the fuzzy 

 kittens on the pussy-willows, the opening marsh- 

 marigolds in the meadows, the frogs, the bluebirds 

 all of these, while they stay, are the spring. But 

 they are not sure to stay over night, here in New 

 England. You may wake up and find it snowing 

 until the shadbush opens. After that, hang up your 



