After the Storm. 63 



silence, and his infectious glee moves the crested 

 tit to whistle loudly, as if to call up every bird 

 about him, and a wren on the hill-side shouts 

 back to it, " Glorious /" 



Such winter days are all too short. I tarried 

 until not a trace of color rested upon the 

 waters ; but scarcely less beautiful were the re- 

 flected stars and crescent moon that gilded the 

 black waters of the short-lived lake. 



