128 WINTER 



X 



It was in the latter end of December, upon a 

 gloomy day that was heavy with the oppression of a 

 coming storm. In the heart of the maple swamp all 

 was still and cold and dead. Suddenly, as out of a 

 tomb, I heard the small, thin cry of a tiny tree-frog. 

 And how small and thin it sounded in the vast 

 silences of that winter swamp ! And yet how clear 

 and ringing ! A thrill of life tingling out through 

 the numb, nerveless body of the woods that has ever 

 since made a dead day for me impossible. 



Have you heard him yet? 



XI 



" After all," says some one of our writers, " it is 

 only a matter of which side of the tree you stand on, 

 whether it is summer or winter." Just so. But, after 

 all, is it not a good thing to stand on the winter side 

 during the winter? to have a winter while we have 

 it, and then have spring? No shivering around on 

 the spring side of the tree for me. I will button up 

 my coat, brace my back against the winter side and 

 shout to the hoary old monarch 



" And there 's a hand, my trusty fiere, 

 And gie 's a hand o' thine ; " 



and what a grip he has ! 



