he footpath were deep in a muddy ooze
flecked with white. The tree-trunks, black, with bare branches, were
lined against the gray sky; nevertheless, spring had been on the way for
a week, and a few sunny days would bring the yearly miracle for which
all hearts were longing.

Ivory was season-wise and his quick eye had caught many a sign as he
walked through the woods from his schoolhouse. A new and different color
haunted the tree-tops, and one had only to look closely at the elm
buds to see that they were beginning to swell. Some fat robins had been
sunning about in the school-yard at noon, and sparrows had been chirping
and twittering on the fence-rails. Yes, the winter was over, and Ivory
was glad, for it had meant no coasting and skating and sleighing for
him, but long walks in deep snow or slush; long evenings, good for
study, but short days, and greater loneliness for his mother. He could
see her now as he neared the house, standing in the open doorway, her
hand shading her eyes, watching, always watching, for some one who never
came.

"Spring is on the way, mother, but it isn't here yet, so don't stand
there in the rain," he called. "Look at the nosegay I gathered for
you as I came through the woods. Here are pussy willows and red maple
blossoms and Mayflowers, would you believe it?"

Lois Boynton took the handful of budding things and sniffed their
fragrance.

"You're late to-night, Ivory," she said. "Rod wanted his supper early
so that he could go off to singing-school, but I kept something warm for
you, and I'll make you a fresh cup of tea."

Ivory went into the little shed room off the kitchen, changed his muddy
boots for slippers, and made himself generally tidy; then he came back
to the living-room bringing a pine knot which he flung on the fire,
waking it to a brilliant flame.

"We can be as lavish as we like with the stumps now, mother, for spring
is coming," he said, as he sat down to his meal.

"I've been looking out more than usual this afternoon," she replied.
"There's hardly any snow left, and though the walking is so bad I've
been rather expecting your father before night. You remember he
said, when he went away in January, that he should be back before the
Mayflowers bloomed?"

It did not do any good to say: "Yes, mother, but the Mayflowers have
bloomed ten times since father went away." He had tried that, gently and
persistently when first her mind began to be confused from long grief
a