The Road to Dumbiedykes 



bleeding hearts were making ready 

 underneath dead leaves to send up their 

 first red signals of a life resumed. 

 And as the melting snows started into 

 activity the drains and ditches that had 

 their sources hidden in the woodlots, 

 day after day I followed the flowing 

 water far afield. Great journeys have 

 I taken upon those occasions, en- 

 grossed intensely in the fortunes of 

 chips or sticks that I had launched 

 upon the rushing currents. Many a 

 disaster, too, I have witnessed on those 

 flood waters of the early spring among 

 the pussy-willows, before the little 

 boats could find safe anchorage in some 

 quiet pool below the rapids. Aye, 

 and I have seen some shipwrecks since, 

 in the broader stream of human ex- 

 perience; and decidedly more tragic. 



When the color begins to deepen on 

 the dogwoods late in March a subtle 

 something tells me I shall soon be 

 headed down the road to Dumbie- 

 dykes. And when we first haul up at 

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