ALONG THE BROOK IN MARCH 215 



ginning to prick their way up through the thin 

 layer of leaf-mold which covered the soggy earth. 



Returning to my path I picked my way along 

 'twixt earth and sky for some distance. The ledge 

 above me was dripping with moisture and even 

 beginning to form icicles, for the shade was heavy 

 here and the day was growing old. Clinging to 

 the rocks were rosettes of saxifrage. They huddled 

 together as if to keep warm, and there was promise 

 of a great crop of flowers. A busy squirrel ran 

 along the limb of a ragged yellow birch. What 

 was he about? The limb was wet where he stood 

 and the squirrel seemed to stop and taste the 

 damp bark. He looked across at me fearlessly, 

 then put his nose to the dripping bark. I stood 

 quite still and watched him. For several minutes 

 he kept this up. I could almost hear him smack 

 his lips and say "sap tas'es mighty fresh an' sweet 

 dis mo'nin', won't y'u have some? Reckon I 

 mus' need a tonic, dese spring days; stored up 

 nuts tas'e mighty dry an' floury when de sap's 

 a-runnin' free an' de buds a swellin'." Now, I 

 don't say it was sap he found there, nor that he 

 was sipping up the moisture, but that's what he 

 seemed to be doing. 



Just then a shadow dodged across my vision. 

 It could not be a dead leaf tossed by the wind, for 

 there was no wind to toss it. Was it then a butter- 

 fly? Impossible, so early. Yet it came again, this 

 time settling on a tree trunk but a few rods dis- 

 tant. Yes, it was a butterfly ! Its dark wings were 

 scarcely visible against the bark, but I could see 



