182 AT THE NORTH OF BEARCAMP WATER. 
dragonfly dart past, and later a solitary ant 
crawl slowly across a patch of sand. No but¬ 
terflies came to me, yet they were still abundant 
in Cambridge. 
There was no chill in the air which surged 
over the hilltop. It was soft and caressing, 
yet so cool that thick clothing or constant exer¬ 
cise was needed to keep warm. Its perfect 
dryness made it seem less cool than it really 
was. The sky was wonderfully blue, and it lent 
its marvelous color to the lake. I have a friend 
who says that March water is bluer than any 
other. It certainly carries its blueness 
straighter into the heart than any other, but as 
I looked at Chocorua Lake from the hilltop it 
seemed to me that it could not be any bluer 
than it was, framed in glossy pines on the one 
hand, and in golden brown and wine color on 
the other. The wind was rough with the lake 
this morning. Striking it suddenly at the far 
north end, near where my well-loved home stands 
silent and deserted in the old orchard, it dark¬ 
ened the clear blue into angry flaw-lines and 
hurried them down the long mile towards the 
bridge, against which it hurled them in white- 
capped waves. I laughed as I watched one of 
the white-edged squalls pass down the length of 
the lake, for it reminded me of a day in mid¬ 
winter when I attempted to cross the lake near 
