58 THE PASSING OF WINTER 



snow and the river bound in arctic fetters, save here 

 and there a swifter reach running dark amid the sur- 

 rounding whiteness, one feels assured that 'joy cometh 

 in the morning/ It is not merely experience of 

 February Sprokelmaund, as the Dutch call it, the 

 breaking-up month that assures one of this. Depend 

 upon it, the earth is alive and watchful ; the very alder 

 buds have blushed a conscious purple ; although not a 

 green leaf will appear for ten weeks to come, the invis- 

 ible seamstresses are preparing for the gala month of 

 June. 



Yet, of a surety, a stranger in this northern land 

 above all, a stranger fatuously bent upon salmon-fishing 

 might be tempted to curse his own folly, or his 

 friend's deceitful assurance, which induced him to incur 

 exile at such a season from the inglorious comforts of 

 his club. Fish ! How can he fish in a frozen river ? 

 'Maybe there will be a change coming before many days/ 

 observes the consolatory gillie. A change ! Good need 

 for it ! Look at the deer, low on the hill above the lodge, 

 crouching away from the fierce nor'easter, densely 

 charged with stinging snow-needles. They seem to 

 have made up their minds for the worst, and run risk 

 of winding the abhorred odour of man rather than 

 endure the unmitigated misery on the tops. It is not 

 like the same world which, two nights ago, he left in 

 London. There, the elm tops were swaying in a wet 

 sou'wester, the pavements flowed with mire, and an 

 ordinary overcoat was oppressive. Here the very breath 

 freezes on the beard, and woe to the unwary who avails 



