IX 
I HEARD A BLUE BIRD 
time is midwinter: the place is Quayle- 
cliff. A deeper snow blanketed the ground 
than had been known in many years. The 
snows lay knee-deep on the level and were drifted 
gloriously. Far as the eye can compass, the 
landscape is uninterrupted whiteness, and under 
the sun is white and glistening as an angel’s 
apparel. On the south side of the house and 
barn, though the sun shines his best without 
a veil of cloud to temper his radiancy, not a 
show of thaw is on the ground nor a drip of 
icicle on the eves. It is bitter cold. The test 
thermometer registers eighteen below, which is 
weather for Kansas. On the hill where we are 
cooking our midday meal, our wood fire does not 
thaw the snow on the ends of the burning logs. 
Heat seems not to radiate. Winter is holding 
forth. This would be dignified cold anywhere. 
Ears are an impertinence in this frigidity. They 
are too numerous for one thing, and then they 
will stick out, and the frost makes merry with 
them. A nose is bad enough, but there is but 
one of him. “Wintry” is what the neighbors 
remark as they pass each other wrapped like 
Icelanders. 
53 
