OF DRIFTWOOD AND DREAMS 



"T T ERE hath been dawning another blue day" the 

 JLA blue day beloved by Ruskin, when the air is still. 

 Not a leaf stirs on the aspens waiting breathlessly ever to 

 catch the breeze. The smoke from the chimneys of a 

 thousand household hearths curls upward in misty spirals 

 higher and higher, like incense rising from altars to reach 

 the far heavens. 



Who would stay within doors'? Not a book on the 

 shelves or a painting in the galleries colors pictures of 

 dreams to match the landscape of garden and roads and 

 hills far away. The clear air spurs the hand to make 

 things fairer, and the passion for pruning, weeding, and 

 planning for richer harvests fills the morning hours. We 

 are hungry for conquest, all aglow to collect what re- 

 mains in the hedgerows and has stayed to beautify the 

 plantations. 



Some one whispered that the orphan school was to pass 

 this way for their monthly fete in the grove. Ought they 

 not to have more than bread for their outing*? Every 

 flower in blossom and in bud must be clipped and tied 

 into neat little posies, to make gay with color and sweet- 

 ness. There is a shy kinship of flowers and children about 

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