APRIL DAYS 57 
beauty and of melody as here marks every 
morning from the last of April onward. 
But days even earlier than these, in April, 
have a charm, — even days that seem raw and 
rainy, when the sky is dull and a bequest of 
March wind lingers, chasing the squirrel from 
the tree and the children from the meadows, 
There is a fascination in walking through these 
bare early woods, —there is such a pause of 
preparation, winter’s work is so cleanly and 
thoroughly done. Everything is taken down 
and put away; throughout the leafy arcades 
the branches show no remnant of last year, 
save a few twisted leaves of oak and beech, a 
few empty seed vessels of the tardy witch- 
hazel, and a few gnawed nutshells dropped 
coquettishly by the squirrels into the crevices 
of the bark. All else is bare, but prophetic : 
buds everywhere, the whole splendor of the 
coming summer concentrated in those hard 
little knobs on every bough; and clinging here 
and there among them a brown, papery chrys- 
alis, from which shall yet wave the superb wings 
of the Luna moth. An occasional shower 
patters on the dry leaves, but it does not silence 
the robin on the outskirts of the wood. Indeed, 
he sings louder than ever during rain, though 
the song sparrow and the bluebird are silent. 
Then comes the sweetness of the nights in 
