till I saw that this house was just as much my home as
the little cottage was. I never could have seen it, though, if I hadn't
gone back to the old house."

Wise Sarah! It was well for her that the club had changed its plan of
work. She would never be able to write an analysis of _The Ring and the
Book_, or throw an interpretative flashlight into the obscurity of _Red
Cotton Night-Cap Country_, but like the knight of the Dark Tower, she
had learned that

"One taste of the old time sets all things right."

ONE DAY IN SPRING

According to the calendar, it was the last day of March, but for weeks
the spirit of April and May had breathed on the face of the earth, and
those who had memories of many springs declared that never before had
there been such weather in the month of March.

In the annals of the rural weather prophets, the winter had been set
down as the coldest ever known--a winter of many snows, of frozen
rivers, and skies so heavily clouded that there was little difference
between the day and the night. Wild creatures had frozen and starved to
death, and man and beast had drawn near to each other in the
companionship of common suffering. Then, as if repenting of her
harshness to her helpless children, Nature had sent a swift and early
spring. It was March, but hardly a March wind had blown. The rain that
fell was not the cold, wind-driven rain of March; it was the warm,
delicate April shower. The sun had the warmth of May, and all the
flowers of field, forest, and garden had felt the summons of sun and
rain and started up from the underworld in such haste that they trod on
each other's heels. Flowers that never had met before stood side by side
and looked wonderingly at each other. The golden flame of the daffodils
was almost burnt out, and the withered blossoms drooped in the grass
like extinguished torches; but hyacinths were opening their censers;
tulips were budding; the plumes of the lilacs showed color, and
honeysuckles and roses looked as if they were trying to bloom with the
lilac and the snowball. March had blustered in with the face and voice
of February, but she was going out a flower-decked Queen of May.

The fragrant air was like the touch of a warm hand. Fleets of white
clouds sailed on the sea of pale blue ether, and the trees, not yet in
full leaf, cast delicate shadows on the grass. On a day like this in
ancient Rome, young and old clad themselves in garments of joy and went
f