WOOD ROADS 



they went by, and almost loved them into 

 bloom. A few more robin-snows and they 

 will all be out. Very likely somewhere a 

 dandelion, some sturdy, rough-and-ready 

 youngster, quivered into yellow florescence 

 at the caress. Robin-snows and the cajol- 

 ing sun of the last week of March often 

 make summer enough for this honest, 

 fearless flower. 



Quite likely the tender joy of the mists 

 at getting back safe to earth under the 

 caress of the eager sun, and their terror 

 of the north wind, which still rumbles by 

 in the upper air, are both nascent on such 

 days, for you have but to go out to feel 

 them, and they inevitably lead you out of 

 the raw mire of the highways, across the 

 wind-swept pasture, into wood roads. 



These on such days have an atmosphere 

 of their own. Here the thrill of the sun 



is as potent as the push of the X-ray. It 

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