48 WINTER 



I, after twenty years of absence, I, the boy again, 

 back in the old familiar pasture on my way to Lap- 

 ton's Pond ! 



Yes, I must say that I was almost afraid as I fol- 

 lowed the old cow-path across the pasture, now only 

 a slightly sunken line in the snow ; I was afraid that 

 the path might be gone. Twenty years are a good 

 many years for a cow-path to last. But evidently 

 the cows had been crossing every year since I had 

 been away ; and not a single new crook had they 

 worn in the old winding trail. Then I was afraid, as 

 I came to the fence where I could look down upon 

 the pond, lest the pond might have disappeared. 

 But no, there it lay, sealed over, as if kept for me 

 by the snow ! Then I looked fearfully over the pond, 

 over the steep ridge on the opposite shore to where 

 there used to stand two particular persimmon trees. 



My heart beat wildly for a moment. The woods 

 up the ridge had been cut off ! Things had changed ! 

 I was confused and looked this way and that, when, 

 so near to me that I could scarcely believe my eyes, 

 I saw the twin trees, their hard, angular limbs closely 

 globed with fruit, and standing softly out against 

 the sky! 



It was enough. Forgetting the twenty years, 

 I hurried down across the pond and up to the per- 

 simmon trees on the other side up into the trees 

 indeed, for I never stopped until I had climbed clear 

 up into the top among the ripe persimmons! 



