THE COUNTRY IN WINTER 



Wind. From the ice-bound water come curious un- 

 earthly sounds, weird moanings, deep sighs, faint far- 

 off groans and heavy boomings. Suddenly a distant 

 sharp report comes nearer and nearer until with a roar 

 the fissure splits almost at our feet and the ice edges turn 

 up in a double ridge. This ice is fully seven inches 

 thick. What tremendous power thus disturbs it? 



On such days I usually draw up a big chair in front 

 of the fire and knit. Knitting seems to be such an ap- 

 propriate work for the country — so old-fashioned and 

 domestic, don't you know? One simply cannot imagine 

 a modern club woman with a knitting bag on her arm! 

 But in the country there is always a demand for mufflers, 

 hoods, and little shawls for the use of guests — as oc- 

 casionally friends do break away to spend a week-end 

 with us, and my knitting bag is a resource when other 

 pursuits might seem impolite. These little interrup- 

 tions made by visitors are always welcome and are quite 

 possibly the reason why I am so contented and do not 

 have a chance to get lonely. At intervals, when abso- 

 lute necessity arises, I do go to town. 



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