A Day on the Crust 



sky clear and blue as June's, and temper- 

 ature just crisp enough to make the blood 

 spin, without nipping ears and fingers. Un- 

 like most winter days, this January day re- 

 mained cloudless from morning till night, 

 and the sunshine had a genial and prophetic 

 brightness that thrilled one's heart with a 

 faint intimation of spring. On the whole, 

 it was such a day, outwardly, as one is 

 tempted to mark with a red star in one's 

 calendar, as memorable simply because of 

 its charm of weather. 



I left my house at eight o'clock in the 

 morning, and struck out like a man re- 

 lieved of all physical limitations whatso- 

 ever. Fences being everywhere obliterated, 

 all my neighbors' back yards were as free 

 to me as my own, and I forged away to the 

 eastward over melon-patches, corn-fields, 

 and vineyards that, only a few months be- 

 fore, were as sacredly guarded as the tombs 

 of Egyptian kings. Then I climbed the 

 broad, white ridge behind the town, and 

 with a parting look at clustered roofs and 

 scattered spires, swung over the crest and 

 down the eastern slope into a wilderness 

 of woods. 



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