A Day on the Crust 



sky clear and blue as June's, and temper 

 ature just crisp enough to make the blood 

 spin, without nipping ears and fingers. Un 

 like most winter days, this January day re 

 mained cloudless from morning till night, 

 and the sunshine had a genial and prophetic 

 brightness that thrilled one's heart with a 

 faint intimation of spring. On the whole, 

 it was such a day, outwardly, as one is 

 tempted to mark with a red star in one's 

 calendar, as memorable simply because of 

 its charm of weather. 



I left my house at eight o'clock in the 

 morning, and struck out like a man re 

 lieved of all physical limitations whatso 

 ever. Fences being everywhere obliterated, 

 all my neighbors' back yards were as free 

 to me as my own, and I forged away to the 

 eastward over melon-patches, corn-fields, 

 and vineyards that, only a few months be 

 fore, were as sacredly guarded as the tombs 

 of Egyptian kings. Then I climbed the 

 broad, white ridge behind the town, and 

 with a parting look at clustered roofs and 

 scattered spires, swung over the crest and 

 down the eastern slope into a wilderness 

 of woods. 



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