2 1 8 mature Stufcies in Berkshire. 



dusted the earth with a tantalising hint of winter. 

 But when Great Barrington was reached it was no 

 sleigh with its tinkle of bells that awaited me, but a 

 comfortable buckboard, suggestive again of summer 

 rides among those Berkshire hills. There was how- 

 ever a most winterish chill in the crisp air, and the 

 January constellations blazed through the dark as they 

 shine only when the mercury is falling well toward 

 zero. The glow of the warm, cheery parsonage 

 which opened its hospitable doors to the traveller im- 

 parted a thrill which belonged to midwinter indeed. 

 And when, after the hours of chat which dominies off 

 duty so dearly love, I went to my room, it was clear 

 that the frost was thickening on the white and glisten- 

 ing panes, and the roar of the fire in the " air-tight " 

 stove sunk into a sighing wheeze that lulled me into 

 a dream of icicles and snowdrifts. I had found the 

 missing winter. 



The sun next morning was soon overmatched by 

 the clouds which worked up from the south-west, and 

 by afternoon the signs in the heavens above and the 

 temperature in the earth beneath gave more promise 

 of a snowstorm than anything we had seen for months. 

 By dinner-time the clouds had conquered, and there 

 was almost no sunshine at all. Yet the chance for a 

 ride was not to be foregone, and in a summer waggon, 

 but with winter wraps, we drove over one of the 

 favourite routes which we had last travelled in brilliant 

 August weather. 



The landscape was bleak and stern under the thin 



