WOODLAND PATHS 



that made me sit up straight and look 

 eagerly. 



A swift wing stabbed the air above the 

 tree tops, and the note sounded nearer. 

 " Quivit, quivit," it said in liquid gentle- 

 ness, and the first barn swallow of my 

 season slipped down toward the pond and 

 skimmed the surface in graceful flight. 

 May is welcome. She could be ushered in 

 by no sweeter music than the gentle call of 

 the barn swallow, nor could she send be- 

 fore her more dignified couriers than the 

 glowing pasture cedars or more richly sen- 

 suous odors than that of the spicebush 

 which makes all the swamps yellow with 

 sunshine in her honor. 



196 



