174 OUTDOOR STUDIES 
with her baby at her breast. The same secur- 
ity of life pervades every woody shrub: the 
alder and the birch have their catkins all ready 
for the first day of spring, and the sweet fern 
has even now filled with fragrance its folded 
blossom. Winter is no such solid bar between 
season and season as we fancy, but only a slight 
check and interruption: one may at any time 
produce these March blossoms by bringing the 
buds into the warm house; and the petals of 
the Mayflower sometimes show their pink and 
white edges in autumn. But every grass blade 
and flower stalk is a mausoleum of vanished 
summer, itself crumbling to dust, never to rise 
again. Each child of June, scarce distinguish- 
able in November against the background of 
moss and rocks and bushes, is brought into 
final prominence in December by the white 
snow which embeds it. The delicate flakes col- 
lapse and fall back around it, but retain their 
inexorable hold. Thus delicate is the action of 
nature, —a finger of air and a grasp of iron. 
We pass the old red foundry, banked in with 
snow and its low eaves draped with icicles, and 
come to the brook which turns its resounding 
wheel. The musical motion of the water seems 
almost unnatural amidst the general stillness : 
brooks, like men, must keep themselves warm 
by exercise. The overhanging rushes and al- 
