ilOO 



THE SPRING OF THE YEAR 



water-lily, and wild grape, and the dew-laid soil ! I 

 can taste them yet, and hear them yet the still, 

 large sounds of the waking day the pickerel break- 

 ing the quiet with his swirl; the kingfisher drop- 

 ping anchor ; the stir of feet and wings among the 

 trees. And then the thought of the great book be- 

 ing held up for me ! Those were rare mornings! 



" But there began to be a good many of them, for 

 he turtles showed no desire to lay. They sprawled 

 in the sun, and never one came out upon the sand 

 1 as if she intended to help on the great professor's 

 Vbook. The story of her eggs was of small concern 

 ',,to her; her contribution to the Natural History of 

 > the United States could wait. 



f" And it did wait. I began my watch on the 14th 

 of May ; June 1st found me still among the cedars, 

 * still waiting, as I had waited every morning, Sun- 

 f days and rainy days alike. June 1st was a perfect 

 morning, but every turtle slid out upon her log, as if 

 egg-laying might be a matter strictly of next year. 

 | ' ? " I began to grow uneasy, not impatient yet, 

 for a naturalist learns his lesson of patience early, 

 ** and for all his years ; but I began to fear lest, by 

 some subtile sense, my presence might somehow be 

 ^ known to the creatures; that they might have gone 

 to some other place to lay, while I was away at the 

 schoolroom. 



" I watched on to the end of the first week, on to 

 the end of the second week in June, seeing the mists 



