dreariest of places; but now the earliest signs of returning
spring were in its martial music, for when the green hyla pipes,
and the bullfrog drums, the bird voices soon join them. The
catkins bloomed first; and then, in an incredibly short time,
flags, rushes, and vines were like a sea of waving green, and
swelling buds were ready to burst. In the upland the smoke was
curling over sugar-camp and clearing; in the forests animals were
rousing from their long sleep; the shad were starting anew their
never-ending journey up the shining river; peeps of green were
mantling hilltop and valley; and the northland was ready for its
dearest springtime treasures to come home again.

From overhead were ringing those first glad notes, caught nearer
the Throne than those of any other bird, "Spring o' year! Spring
o' year!"; while stilt-legged little killdeers were scudding
around the Limberlost and beside the river, flinging from
cloudland their "Kill deer! Kill deer!" call. The robins in the
orchards were pulling the long dried blades of last year's grass
from beneath the snow to line their mud-walled cups; and the
bluebirds were at the hollow apple tree. Flat on the top rail,
the doves were gathering their few coarse sticks and twigs
together. It was such a splendid place to set their cradle. The
weatherbeaten, rotting old rails were the very colour of the busy
dove mother. Her red-rimmed eye fitted into the background like
a tiny scarlet lichen cup. Surely no one would ever see her!
The Limberlost and shining river, the fields and forests, the
wayside bushes and fences, the stumps, logs, hollow trees, even
the bare brown breast of Mother Earth, were all waiting to cradle
their own again; and by one of the untold miracles each would
return to its place.