WOODLAND PATHS 



ingly down and patted the black earth over 

 it till it went to sleep. They pulled lustily 

 at germinating blades, and in their labor, 

 there under the darkness, they painted out 

 in a night the brown of last year with the 

 verdant pigment of this. They hammered 

 and pried at the tough, varnished outer 

 husks of buds, and finally worked them 

 open and began unfolding the soft yellow- 

 green of the young leaves within. 



Thus the tips of huckleberry twigs, 

 which had given a soft shade of wine red 

 to the pasture all winter long, lost this tint 

 and bourgeoned into palest green, and the 

 shadbush buds began to shake loose their 

 racemes of bloom. The little people 

 worked in squads, and showers played 

 their merry tunes hither and yon as they 

 labored. 



All through the night the fresh smell of 

 the open pores of earth met you every- 

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