s broke and ran away in
creeping streams, and the earth returned to the earth that gave it; a
mist too, arose from the earth, and softened its bare outlines, and
soon the first anemone pushed its furry nose through the mat of gray
grass, and scored another victory on the robin; the white poplar
blushed green at its roots; the willows at the edge of the river
reddened higher and higher, as the sap mounted; headings of mouse-ears
soon began to show on their branches--a green, glow came over the
prairie, and in the ponds, It millions of frogs, at the signal from an
unknown conductor, burst into song.

Then it was that the tired old Earth stopped thinking and began to
feel--a thrill--a throb--a pulsing of new life--the stirring of new
hopes which mocked its fears of cold or frost or sorrow or death.

The Souris Valley opened forgiving arms to the repentant young Spring,
and put forth leaves in gayest fashion. The white bones, fantastically
sticking through faded red hides, were charitably hidden by the grass,
so that the awakened conscience of the tender young Spring might not
be unduly reminded of its cruelty and neglect.

The woman who lived alone at Purple Springs always expected great
things of the Spring. She could not grow accustomed to the coldness of
her neighbors, or believe that they had really cut her off from any
communication, and all through the winter which had just gone she had
kept on telling herself that everything would be different in the
Spring. Looking day after day into the white valley, piled high with
snow, she had said to herself over and over again: "There shall be no
more snow--there shall be no more snow"--until the words began to mock
her and taunt her, and at last lost their meaning altogether like an
elastic band that has stretched too far. If she had been as close a
student of the Bible as her mother, back in Argylshire, she would have
known that her impatience with the snow, which all winter long had
threatened and menaced her, and peered at her with its thousand eyes,
was just the same feeling that prompted John on the Isle of Patmos,
wearied by the eternal breaking of the waves on his island prison, to
set down as the first condition in the heavenly city: "There shall be
no sea."

Three years before, Mrs. Gray had come to the Souris Valley, and
settled on the hill farm. It had been owned by a prospector, who once
in a while lived on it, but went away for long periods, when it was
bel