OUR COUNTRY LIFE 



cold and frosty so that each trunk and twig and withered 

 leaf is wrapped in a shining coat of ice. A soft haze 

 blurs the opposite shore, and in this strange atmosphere 

 distant objects acquire a curiously exaggerated aspect: 

 two crows drinking at a spring near the island loom 

 large as eagles, and the children's pony drawing their 

 small cart schoolwards resembles a Normandy draft 

 horse. The red Siberian dogwoods gleam like rubies, 

 the orange-tinted willow becomes a topaz rare, and the 

 drooping Forsythias are strung with diamond drops. 

 And now the wind is rising to a gale. The thermom 

 eter drops to zero, the open water becomes ice, and the 

 birds hide themselves in sheltered corners. The thrifty 

 housewife devotes her fuel to keeping a few rooms com 

 fortable, and even calks those blessed casements with 

 cotton batting! 



"Magnificent weather for ice-boating!" suggests the 

 optimistic gardener. But I am content with less ex 

 citing pastimes. I feed the shivering birds, I feed the 

 saucy squirrels, I feed the open fires, and between blasts 

 I reflect on the beneficent qualities of this same Master 



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