WOODLAND PATHS 



ber, and full of soft yearning of colors in 

 hope and promise; flowers had struggled 

 bravely forth here and there, but they had 

 smiled patiently on a land brown with pas- 

 ture grass of last year. 



Yet in a night the full warmth of April 

 fondness and her tears of joy at being 

 really home again changed all that. Un- 

 der the patter of wee showers the wan 

 grasses of last year laid weary heads upon 

 the black earth beneath them and went to 

 sleep, while up in their places sprang the 

 lush green spears of this year, glinting 

 back a million joyous facets to the next 

 morning's sun that thus seemed to sprinkle 

 all things with gleam of jewels. 



They came very softly at first in the 

 black dusk, these April showers, growing 

 out of the air so close to my cheek that 

 their touch upon it was infinitely fine and 

 soothing. Thus the dew touches the grass 



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