THE DAY BEFORE SPRING 47 



Such days must cause tremulous heartbeats beneath 

 the sodden earth, for very certain it is that if this 

 strange, disturbing something, which has crept into the 

 world over night, pierces my fur jacket and stirs my 

 hibernating emotions, so much more surely does it reach 

 and stir those sleeping green things so divinely sensitive 

 to this "elemental tenderness." The morrow may find 

 our throbbing senses quieted by a soft cold hand of 

 snow, icicles may hang fiercely where yesterday sounded 

 the thrilling drip, and winds may flourish their banners 

 of dun-coloured cloud; but within that sunny rift, 

 between two storms, the baby Spring was born and 

 straightway we and the waiting world capitulate and 

 owe allegiance to none other. Down to the garden one 

 goes, eager for miracles, and, sure enough, a fat robin 

 struts the walk, a song-sparrow tilts joyously on the 

 Sweet Brier and splits his little spring-tuned throat 

 and lo ! in a sheltered corner, a miracle indeed, for what 

 yesterday was snow, to-day is tender flowers, pure as the 

 snow, but boasting a tiny spot of green upon each cold 

 white inner petal, mute assurance of the Snowdrop's 

 fealty to the new order, else should we not mistake her 

 for the child of gray old winter? Often above the 

 Snowdrops the Naked Jasmine has lighted a pale 

 candle or two, and if our eyes are sharp, doubtless we 

 shall find some fat little bundles of Crocus spears heaved 

 through the winter blanket. More than likely the 

 Crown Imperials, those stout but easily demoralized 



