216 THE CLERK OF THE WOODS 



of. For myself, I am like a man in jail. 

 My term is about to expire, and I am notch- 

 ing off the days one by one on a stick. 

 " Three more," say I ; "two more." "Wel- 

 come the coming, speed the parting guest." 

 And I am ready to hang my cap on the 

 horns of the moon. 



" You are too much in haste," some man 

 will say ; the same that said, " How are the 

 dead raised up?" But I know better. It 

 is one happy effect of ornithological habits 

 that they shorten the winter. There will be 

 no spring flowers for a good while yet, but 

 there will be spring birds within a fortnight, 

 perhaps within a week ; nay, there may be 

 some before night. Indeed, I have just come 

 in from a two-hour jaunt, and at almost 

 every step my ears were open for the first 

 vernal note. I have seen bluebirds, before 

 now, earlier than this ; and what has hap- 

 pened once may happen again. So, while 

 the wind blew softly from the southwest, and 

 all the hills were mantled with a dreamy 

 haze, I chose a course that would take me 

 past one apple orchard after another ; and, 

 as I say, my ears (which I often think are 



