Winter-green 81 



them. Have they ever come from you ? I 

 went into the woods this morning with a 

 light heart because every old oak was a life- 

 long companion, and the glinting sunshine 

 was their smiles, and not mere glitter of the 

 sun beyond. We lose in part our grip upon 

 enjoyment when we cease to make believe, 

 child-fashion. Seeing the winter-green, I 

 fancied it was spring ; and then came mosses 

 and greenbrier and the chatter of a squirrel. 

 What, then, did it matter where the mercury 

 went ? It might disappear without affefting 

 these pleasant February foretastes of what is 

 near at hand. There was not a forbidding 

 feature within sight; and while I dallied 

 with the thread-like mosses clinging to the 

 trees there came by that delightful songster 

 of the round year, a Carolina wren. There 

 was never weather so foul but this bird has 

 a pleasant word to speak of it. It came, it 

 sang, it conquered. There was neither cold, 

 nor gloom, nor evidence of more cheerful 

 days in time past, when the wren, perched 

 upon a bending branch of spicewood, uttered 

 all the happiness of its unchanging heart. 

 That song could have held back the darkness. 

 Had it, too, found the winter-green ? Stay ! 



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