THE COUNTRY IN WINTER 



few evergreens, pine and spruce, stand guard over a cozy 

 farmhouse where an ancient apple tree still bears the 

 rope swing of summer. The small water ways are 

 frozen over, and the only signs of life are in the com 

 panies of sociable crows spreading their wide wings 

 and cawing cheerfully. 



And then the return at night! How wonderful the 

 ride through the blackness of unlighted country high 

 ways, the horses trotting briskly until we turn into our 

 own almost unbroken road. Here they feel their way 

 through the deep snow more slowly, for the windings 

 are only outlined here and there by heaps of half-sawn 

 timber and bundles of fagots ready for the carrier's 

 cart. How long it seems before the lights of the big 

 house shine forth a cheery welcome and we are home 

 again! 



Next morning the delicate tracery of the forest is 

 blurred by the finest of gently falling snows, the wind 

 is still sleeping and we are enclosed in a white, soft 

 world. This is the snow which our grandfathers loved, 

 the sticky, persistent snow; the good old-fashioned snow 



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