The Road to Dumbiedykes 



have lost their sparkle. Through gra- 

 dations imperceptible to human sensi- 

 bilities, the sable hangings of the night 

 are silently shifted westward on the 

 wings of the morning breeze. The 

 world is still asleep; terrestrial anima- 

 tion apparently suspended except- 

 ing always in the henneries. Out of 

 steel-gray shadows now emerge faint 

 outlines of familiar objects in the land- 

 scape. In the east thin shafts of a 

 light impalpable pierce the dissolving 

 gloom. In the far west a bank of 

 purple follows the retreat of night. 

 The plaintive cry of a hungry lamb is 

 heard, and again that dog at Rippet's! 

 I know perfectly well that the trees 

 and bushes all around are full of ten- 

 ants, all but ready to burst into their 

 May-morning song, but as yet no sound 

 reveals a single bird. 



I do not have the temerity to wake 



up the rest of the household to ask 



them to study with me the beauty of 



the now onrushing dawn. I once tried 



(74) 



