Nothing. Yet something in the girl's face made
her think that these hills, this air and sky, were in fact alive to
her,--real; that her soul, being lower, it might be, than ours, lay
closer to Nature, knew the language of the changing day, of these
earnest-faced hills, of the very worms crawling through the brown
mould. It was an idle fancy; Margret laughed at herself for it, and
turned to watch the slow morning-struggle which Lois followed with such
eager eyes.

The light was conquering. Up the gray arch the soft, dewy blue crept
gently, deepening, broadening; below it, the level bars of light struck
full on the sullen black of the west, and worked there undaunted,
tinging it with crimson and imperial purple. Two or three coy
mist-clouds, soon converted to the new allegiance, drifted giddily
about, mere flakes of rosy blushes. The victory of the day came slowly,
but sure, and then the full morning flushed out, fresh with moisture
and light and delicate perfume. The bars of sunlight fell on the lower
earth from the steep hills like pointed swords; the foggy swamp of wet
vapour trembled and broke, so touched, rose at last, leaving patches of
damp brilliance on the fields, and floated majestically up in radiant
victor clouds, led by the conquering wind. Victory: it was in the
cold, pure ether filling the heavens, in the solemn gladness of the
hills. The great forests thrilling in the soft light, the very sleepy
river wakening under the mist, chorded with a grave bass in the rising
anthem of welcome to the new life which God had freshly given to the
world. From the sun himself, come forth as a bridegroom from his
chamber, to the flickering raindrops on the road-side mullein, the
world seemed to rejoice, exultant in victory. Homely, cheerier sounds
broke the outlined grandeur of the morning, on which Margret looked
wearily. Lois lost none of them; no morbid shadow of her own balked
life kept their meaning from her.

The light played on the heaped vegetables in the old cart; the bony
legs of the donkey trotted on with fresh vigour. There was not a
lowing cow in the distant barns, nor a chirping swallow on the
fence-bushes, that did not seem to include the eager face of the little
huckster in their morning greetings. Not a golden dandelion on the
road-side, not a gurgle of the plashing brown water from the
well-troughs, which did not give a quicker pleasure to the glowing
face. Its curious content stung the wom