DEAD WILLOW BEND. 123 



I drew a long breath, and stared at the garrulous crip- 

 ple in silence. 



"Don't you h'lieve it?" he asked, with some irrita- 

 tion in his voice ; " if yon don't, we'll stay strangers one 

 to t'other, that's all ;" and he hobbled to his boat. 



I watched him embark, and as he sculled down the 

 creek I wondered who he was. To this day he remains 

 a stranger, both to me and to my neighbors. 



The willow is a test tree with those who anxiously 

 await the coming of spring, and by its leaf -buds one 

 is apt to swear when aiming to be weatherwise. They 

 were held by the early Swedes who settled here to be 

 governed by the sun's movement more than by the 

 actual conditions of the weather. By mere chance, it 

 occurred to me to test it as the winter of '85 drew to a 

 close. 



My almanac, under date of March 20th, states, " 10 

 a.m. spring commences." Opens her engagement for 

 the season, I presume is meant, and so to be present at 

 the rising of the curtain I hurried to the meadows. I 

 have read upon play-bills, " Curtain rises promptly at 

 7.45 p.m. ;" but it happened otherwise. 10 a.m. came 

 and went, and not an intimation was there of the grand 

 acts about to be performed. The torn and tattered 

 hangings of the late tragedy, winter, was all that I found. 

 But I am not given to despair, and the next day, and 

 the next, and all that week, I walked over the crisp 

 meadows to a distant hedge of willows. Though still 

 the curtain did not rise, it was not in vain that I went. 

 The orchestra did all they could to keep peace with the 

 audience, and they succeeded. Why, then, complain 



