XIV. 



COLTSFOOT FLOWERS. 



DOWN by the streamlet in the Frying Pan, 

 in the heavy clay soil of the bank, I see this 

 morning the flower-scapes of the coltsfoot 

 are lifting betimes their curious bent heads. 

 Two days more, and they will star the bare 

 earth with their golden blossoms. That is 

 a sure sign that winter is over, the labourers 

 will tell you, weatherwise in their ancestral 

 lore ; 'and, indeed, the coltsfoot is a prudent 

 and a wary herb, which I have seldom known 

 go wrong in its calculation of probabilities. 

 It makes its own weather forecast, inde- 

 pendently of the Meteorological Office, and 

 it backs its opinion. As long as it thinks 

 frost is likely to recur, it " lies low," like 

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