CHAPTER XXXIII

Spring.Mistawisblackandsullenforaweekortwo,thenflaminginsapphireandturquoise,lilacandroseagain,laughingthroughtheoriel,caressingitsamethystislands,ripplingunderwindssoftassilk.Frogs,littlegreenwizardsofswampandpool,singingeverywhereinthelongtwilightsandlongintothenightsislandsfairy-likeinagreenhazetheevanescentbeautyofwildyoungtreesinearlyleaffrost-likelovelinessofthenewfoliageofjuniper-treesthewoodsputtingonafashionofspringflowers,dainty,spiritualthingsakintothesoulofthewildernessredmistonthemapleswillowsdeckedoutwithglossysilverpussiesalltheforgottenvioletsofMistawisbloomingagainlureofAprilmoons. “ThinkhowmanythousandsofspringshavebeenhereonMistawis—andallofthembeautiful,”saidValancy.“Oh,Barney,lookatthatwildplum!Iwill—ImustquotefromJohnFoster.There’sapassageinoneofhisbooks—I’vere-readitahundredtimes.Hem