262 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



far north under cover of darkness, first raises 

 these spectres, then lays them, so the sun makes 

 their cheery, frostwork beauty a marvel of de- 

 light for a brief time, then sends it back to the 

 earth whence it sprang and wipes away ail tears 

 from the eyes of the shrubs and grasses that weep 

 at losing such delicate beauty. 



In those crisp morning hours of early sunlight 

 all the ghosts are laid. The winter chill which 

 made them has frozen them all out of the air. 

 The twigs and leaves that gave them refuge have 

 wept and kissed them good-by at the shout of the 

 oncoming sun and no suggestion from the world 

 beyond meets the eye. The ghost chill is frozen 

 out of the sky with the ghosts; the wine of the 

 morning is so poured through the dry air that 

 you must drink it to the lees whether you will or 

 not. Such mornings as you have had in April 

 you may get in November, nor hardly can you 

 tell without the assistance of the almanac which 

 season it is. The bare twigs have the flush of 

 expectancy on them, the blushing hope of new 

 buds, as soon as the leaves of the year are off 

 them. It may not be so bright and winning, but 

 you will not note the difference, for it is there, 

 painted during the ripening of this year's leaves. 



