Ploughboy 



forests, but only once have I seen pruning by 

 rain. The rain froze on the trees as it fell and 

 grew so thick and heavy that many of them 

 lost a third or more of their branches. The view 

 of the woods after the storm had passed and 

 the sun shone forth was something never to be 

 forgotten. Every twig and branch and rugged 

 trunk was encased in pure crystal ice, and each 

 oak and hickory and willow became a fairy 

 crystal palace. Such dazzling brilliance, such 

 effects of white light and irised light glowing 

 and flashing I had never seen before, nor have I 

 since. This sudden change of the leafless woods 

 to glowing silver was, like the great aurora, 

 spoken of for years, and is one of the most 

 beautiful of the many pictures that enriches 

 my life. And besides the great shows there 

 were thousands of others even in the coldest 

 weather manifesting the utmost fineness and 

 tenderness of beauty and affording noble com- 

 pensation for hardship and pain. 



One of the most striking of the winter sounds 

 was the loud roaring and rumbling of the ice 

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