prepared billets for the seething caldron of sap.

The day was indeed forming an illuminated page. The blue of the sky
seemed intense after so many gray and steel-hued days, and there was not
a trace of cloud. The flowing sap was not sweeter than the air, to which
the brilliant sunlight imparted an exhilarating warmth far removed from
sultriness. From the hillside came the woody odor of decaying leaves, and
from the adjacent meadow the delicate perfume of grasses whose roots
began to tingle with life the moment the iron grip of the frost relaxed.
Sitting on a rock near the crackling fire, Amy made as fair a gypsy as
one would wish to see. On every side were evidences that spring was
taking possession of the land. In the hollows of the meadow at her feet
were glassy pools, kept from sinking away by a substratum of frost, and
among these migratory robins and high-holders were feeding. The brook
beyond was running full from the melting of the snow in the mountains,
and its hoarse murmur was the bass in the musical babble and tinkle of
smaller rills hastening toward it on either side. Thus in all directions
the scene was lighted up with the glint and sparkle of water. The rays of
the sun idealized even the muddy road, of which a glimpse was caught, for
the pasty clay glistened like the surface of a stream. The returning
birds appeared as jubilant over the day as the children whose voices
blended with their songs--as do all the sounds that are absolutely
natural. The migratory tide of robins, song-sparrows, phoebes, and other
early birds was still moving northward; but multitudes had dropped out of
line, having reached their haunts of the previous year. The sunny
hillsides and its immediate vicinity seemed a favorite lounging-place
both for the birds of passage and for those already at home. The
excitement of travel to some, and the delight at having regained the
scene of last year's love and nesting to others, added to the universal
joy of spring, so exhilarated their hearts that they could scarcely be