1 88 GARRYOWEN 



want me to take a stall. You haven't any aunts 

 or anyone who would do embroidery for it, have 

 you? It's to be on the fifth of April." 



" No," said Mr Dashwood, " I don't think I 

 have any female relatives any good in the fancy 

 needlework hne. I've got a charitably-disposed 

 elderly female cousin I might land for a sub- 

 scription, though — " 



" I wouldn't trust myself with the money. No 

 matter. I daresay we will manage somehow. 

 I want to go down to Crowsnest and post these 

 letters. Will you walk with me? " 



" Rather," replied Mr Dashwood, and, taking 

 his hat, he followed her out on the verandah. 



It was a clear March morning without a trace of 

 cloud in the sky, and with just a trace of frost in the 

 air. The country, still haK wrapped in the sleep of 

 winter, had that charm which a perfect Enghsh 

 early spring day can alone disclose, and there was 

 something — something in the air, something in 

 the sky, some indefinable thrill at the heart of 

 things that said, spirit-fashion, to whoever could 

 hear, " All this is drawing to a close. Even now, 

 in the woods, here and there, you will find prim- 

 roses. In a week or two you will find a million. 

 My doors are just about to open, the cuckoo is 

 just preening for flight, the swallows at Luxor 

 and Carnac are dreaming of the pine trees and the 

 north. I am Spring." 



Mr Dashwood was not given to poetical inter- 

 pretations of Nature's moods, but there was that 



