iir 



THE SEEDING MONTH— THE 

 COMING OF "FELICITY" 



April came, my very own month, and I forgot it. 

 I lay in bed long after my friend the sun had risen, 

 and positively without excuse since it was a fine and 

 gracious morning, warm and exquisitely bright, with 

 that indescribable quality of exhilaration in the air 

 which we name the joy of life and in our hearts 

 prize more truly than any other gift. When I had 

 worked my way through chores that couldn't be 

 avoided, I claimed the first of April's days as holiday, 

 and walked over to John McLeay's with Pax, whose 

 unbounded delight was good to see. John McLeay 

 was out, but we rested at his door and walked home 

 again, carefully selecting our path by guidance of 

 the herbage, whose earth-bed had already claimed 

 its measure of sun, yet for all our care occasionally 

 I sank with startling suddenness knee-deep into a 

 drift. 



The next day I returned to the wheel of the 

 grain separator, but poor Pax, who seemed so fit 

 and well and kept me company the whole day in 

 the granary in spite of his strong dislike of the 

 music of the mill, had a very bad fit towards evening, 

 and I wondered if I really ought to follow my 

 neighbour's advice to have him destroyed. But all 



269 



