She walked with
long, swinging step, smiling to herself, humming a glad little air, now
and then tossing her head just to get the breath of spring upon her face
in some new way. Mrs. Rolfe watched her from the kitchen door, smiling.
On the hill-top she stopped, standing straight, breathing deep, revelling
in the song of the birds--they were fairly intoxicated with joy at
this morning--listening to the soft murmur of the spring beneath it
all--happy--oh so happy, as she looked off to the far distances. The long
winter had gone, and now the spring had come again--the dear spring she
had always loved!
It was with her too almost an intoxication--the throwing off of gloom,
the taking on of joy. On such a morning nature calls unto her chosen, and
they hear her call, and are glad. As she stood there on her hill-top her
spirit lifted itself up in lyric utterance; her whole being responded to
the songs of the returning birds.
How well Dr. Parkman had planned it! She would go back now and tell Karl
what a great thing it was to be alive, how the spirit was everything, and
could conquer all else.
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