4M THE ROLL OF THE SEASONS 



melting snow not so frequently remarked but none 

 the less true. We must see the spring flowers coming 

 up under the snow itself in the Alps to understand 

 how they relish this, the softest of all irrigations. 

 The snowdrop shoots have grown perceptibly under 

 the snow. When the sheet of white vanished from 

 the fields, the white spots of newly opened daisies 

 remained. The blossoms are in thousands, for we 

 must not allow the daisy's glory to be dimmed by 

 the fact that it groups every hundred florets or so 

 into a separate head. We can follow the daisy-chain 

 everywhere through the fields, standing at one flower 

 and finding the next before we move on. The new 

 honeysuckle leaves are as fresh as before the frost. 

 The hazel-catkins are still within a sunny week of 

 flinging their dust to the winds and to the little red 

 fingers that sleep in the big buds beneath them. The 

 earth is just freshened up after the snow, as by the 

 dash of a cold sponge. But if the tightening of the 

 air this evening means black frost on a world unpro- 

 vided with blankets, there may soon be another tale 

 to tell. 



