SPRING JOTTINCS 169 



blackbird cackled and jingled. Athwart these 

 sounds came every half minute the clear, strong 

 note of the meadow-lark. The larks were very 

 numerous and were lovemaking. Then the 

 highhole called and the bush sparrow trilled 

 Arbutus days these, everybody wants to go to 

 the woods for arbutus; it fairly calls one. The 

 soil calls for the plough, too, the garden calls 

 tor the spade, the vineyard calls for the hoe 

 ^rom all about the farm voices call. Come and 

 do this, or do that. At night how the "peep- 

 ers pile up the sound. 



How I delight to see the plough at work such 

 mornings; the earth is ripe for it, fairly lusts 

 tor It, and the freshly turned soil looks good 

 enough to eat. Plucked my first bloodroot this 

 morning, — a full-blown flower with a young 

 one folded up in a leaf beneath it, only just the 

 bud emerging like the head of a pappoose pro- 

 truding from its mother's blanket, —a very 

 pretty sight. The bloodroot always comes up 

 with the leaf shielding the flower-bud, as one 

 shields the flame of the candle in the open air 

 with his hand half closed about it. 



These days the song of the toad — tr-r-r-r-r- 

 r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r ~ is heard in the land. 

 At nearly all hours I hear it, and it is as wel- 

 come to me as the song of any bird. It is a 

 kind of gossamer of sound drifting in the air. 

 Mother toad is in the pools and puddles now 

 depositing that long chain or raveling of oggs, 

 while her dapper little mate rides u]ion Ter 

 back and fertilizes them as they are laid. A.s 



