WILDWOOD WAYS 



long line spire conically out of the brown 

 grasses on the bog edge, where the pick- 

 erel weed flaunted blue banners all sum- 

 mer long. 



The thermometer marked a tempera- 

 ture of but a few degrees below freezing, 

 but it was the coldest day of the winter. 

 The bite of the wind off Hudson's Bay is 

 as nothing to the chill which the Arctic 

 sea-water folds in its unfrozen heart as 

 it sweeps from polar depths down the 

 west coast of Greenland, along the Lab- 

 rador shore, round Newfoundland and 

 down again, shouldering into Massachu- 

 setts Bay; the reserve corps of the win- 

 ter's assault, the Old Guard plunging des- 

 perately to its Waterloo in the face of 

 all-conquering spring. This chill the 

 east wind had caught up from the green 

 depths of the surges he tossed, and made 

 it the poison of the points which he drove 

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