Where Town and Country Meet 



or perhaps a week longer, according as the 

 season is backward or advanced. 



Then, suddenly, my pneumatic messenger 

 comes to the window with a fresh bit of 

 news, or at least the likeliest of rumors. The 

 February wind ceases to moan and cry. Na 

 ture has felt a strange, involuntary stirring 

 in her prisoned members, and suddenly the 

 air becomes full of questioning. The Feb 

 ruary wind is distinctly interrogative. Its 

 voice has a rising inflection. It brings you 

 a rumor, yet with the accent of conviction, 

 as one may put a question in such a way 

 as to expect and admit of but a single an 

 swer. 



The first premonition of spring is a subtle 

 tone of the wind perhaps the most subtle 

 of any; yet a trained and attentive ear can 

 hardly miss or mistake it. I find that I 

 have a different mood, at once, when the 

 February wind begins to blow. Its first 

 whispering may come in the middle of 

 the night, waking me for gladness. I feel 

 like one reprieved. The tension is gone; 

 my spirits are unbent once more and at 

 ease. The wind tells me that nature, who 

 has not stirred a muscle now for more than 

 230 



