120 BEACH GRASS 



in the dunes. A cheese sandwich, however, 

 tasted good to the last crumb and a sunny corner 

 on the south side of the house was pleasantly 

 warm. 



It is uncommon on this wind-swept coast for the 

 snow to fall gently on the trees and bushes, and 

 build up fairy palaces of beauty, or, if it does, it 

 is soon blown away by a rising wind. Often, 

 however, in sheltered nooks in the lea of higher 

 ground, the trees and bushes are loaded with 

 snow. Every branch, every twig bears its bur- 

 den, and the evergreens are glorious in their 

 white coating. If the snow is light and feathery, 

 it does but little damage, for an overload bends 

 down the branch and the snow falls off in a 

 powdery spray. The slighest touch or a puff of 

 wind causes a miniature snowstorm. 



If, however, rain and sleet have coated the 

 trees with ice great damage may result from the 

 tightly fastened load. But one may almost for- 

 give the damage for the surpassing beauty of these 

 ice-storms. I was therefore most fortunate in ar- 

 riving in Ipswich at a week-end in February, 

 1920, just as one of these storms was clearing 



