forbidding surface there was the life of my loved lilies, and because I
knew that all in good time the real river - our river - would be
restored to us again, alive and joyous and unchanged.

One day, when first the tiny rivulets started to run from the bottom of
the snow-drifts, The River suddenly unloosed its artillery and the crisp
air reechoed with the booming that proclaimed the breaking-up of the
ice. Great crowds of people thronged the banks, wondering if the bridge
would go out or would stand the strain of pounding icecakes. The
unmistakable note of a robin sounded from somewhere. Great dark spots
began to show in the white ice-ribbon that wound through the valley. The
air at sundown had lost its sting.

So day by day the breaking-up continued until at last the blessed stream
was clear - the bass jumped hungry to the fly - the daffodils and
violets sprang from beneath their wet leaf-blankets - and all the world
joined the birds in one grand song of emancipation and joy.

-

The Big Bend



Above the town, just beyond the red iron bridge, the river made a great
bend and widened into a lake where the banks were willow-grown, and
reeds and rushes and grasses and lily-pads pushed far out into
mid-stream, leaving only a narrow channel of clear water.

To the Big Bend our canoe glided often, paddling lazily along and going