48 
A SPRING EPISODE. 
EXT month I shall have something to show you,” said 
the ewe : “ wander this way again in three weeks’ 
time.” 
“ Just what I was saying,” sang the thrush, “ come 
again soon. For the present we have all so much to think of : 
even the prim speckled hen is sitting. I hear she is full of hope 
and very patient.” 
The man and woman listened to the thrush’s song : they 
understood its outpourings. 
“ I shall be covered with blossom by then,” whispered the 
cherry-tree. “ I doubt if you have ever seen such a sight. 
Every bough and twig on me is ruffled in pure white to the edge 
of the blue sky ; or so it appears to you down below in the 
orchard.” 
“ We shall surely come,” answered the man, laying his hand 
on the trunk of the cherry tree and looking at the woman : ‘‘ we, 
too, shall have something to show you then.” 
The woman stood beside the ewe, and stroked the broad 
woolly back thoughtfully. “ Give my love to the speckled hen,” 
she said, ‘‘ I shall think of you all : how beautiful the Spring is.” 
“ Ah ! wait till you see my lamb,” answered the ewe. 
“ And my eggs,” sang the thrush. 
“ And my blossom,” said the cherry-tree. 
The man whispered something to the woman which the ewe 
and the cherry-tree and the thrush could not hear. She smiled, 
and drew a deep breath, and again said, “ How beautiful the 
Spring is ! ” 
So the days passed — warm, sunny days. The daffodils shook 
out their frills, and dotted the orchard with yellow clumps : buds 
of all kinds unfolded daily, and the Spring hours were hours of 
sunshine and singing and life. One night a storm arose. The 
wind raged, and the rain and the hail beat over the fair Spring 
country. Next morning everyone said, “ What a storm ! It 
will have done much damage.” 
The three weeks slipped away, and on a warm, still afternoon 
the man went back to the orchard alone. The cherry-tree 
sighed when she saw him coming, for the hail had cut the white 
blossom to pieces and swept it to the ground, leaving her bare 
and desolate. On the grass at her feet a lamb was tethered, 
and a farm-man was busy feeding it clumsily yet skilfully out 
of a bottle. 
“ This is our only little mishap, so far,” he remarked to the 
lonely man. ” The master ’ave ’ad an uncommon good season.” 
The lonely man fondled the lamb as soon as the farm-man 
left it, but when it looked into his face and bleated, he turned 
hurriedly away, and stood for a few minutes watching some very 
