ar them, he would have replied, "I'm used to 'em. When
they come, I know that plowing and planting time is near."

It must be admitted that Holcroft's enjoyment of spring was not very
far removed from that of the stock in his barnyard. All the animal
creation rejoices in the returning sun and warmth. A subtle, powerful
influence sets the blood in more rapid motion, kindles new desires, and
awakens a glad expectancy. All that is alive becomes more thoroughly
alive and existence in itself is a pleasure. Spring had always brought
to the farmer quickened pulses, renewed activity and hopefulness, and
he was pleased to find that he was not so old and cast down that its
former influence had spent itself. Indeed, it seemed that never before
had his fields, his stock, and outdoor work--and these comprised Nature
to him--been so attractive. They remained unchanged amid the sad
changes which had clouded his life, and his heart clung more
tenaciously than ever to old scenes and occupations. They might not
bring him happiness again, but he instinctively felt that they might
insure a comfort and peace with which he could be content.

At last he went to the barn and began his work, doing everything
slowly, and getting all the solace he could from the tasks. The horses
whinnied their welcome and he rubbed their noses caressingly as he fed
them. The cows came briskly to the rack in which he foddered them in
pleasant weather, and when he scratched them between the horns they
turned their mild, Juno-like eyes upon him with undisguised affection.
The chickens, clamoring for their breakfast, followed so closely that
he had to be careful where he stepped. Although he knew that all this
good will was based chiefly on the hope of food and the remembrance of
it in the past, nevertheless it soothed and pleased him. He was in
sympathy with this homely life; it belonged to him and was dependent on
him; it made him honest returns for his care. Moreover, it was
agreeably linked with the past. There were quiet cows which his wife
had milked, clucking biddies which she had lifted from nests with their
downy broods. He looked at them wistfully, and was wondering if they
ever missed the presence that he regretted so deeply, when he became
conscious that Jane's eyes were upon him. How long she had been
watching him he did not know, but she merely said, "Breakfast's ready,"
and disappeared.

With a sigh he went to his room to perform his