-bound within
the walls of the old farmhouse, and now spring had unlocked the doors of
the prison. Lighter grew her footsteps the longer she walked, and in
every muscle she felt the joy of motion that the fawn feels when it
leaps through the forest, or the bird when it cleaves the sunny air on
glistening wing.

Gone was the thought of time, for here were no tasks to be done, no
breakfast, dinner, and supper; and the day had but three
periods,--sunrise, noontide, and sunset. The house she had left that
morning seemed a long way off, almost in another world; and the forest
was an enchanted land where there was no ugly toil for one's daily
bread. Duty and fear alike were lulled to sleep, and while the sun
climbed to its zenith she roamed as care-free as any wild creature of
the woods. Suddenly a cloud darkened the sun and melted into a soft,
warm mist that the wind caught up and blew like a veil across the face
of spring. Miranda paused, lifted her head, and held out her hands to
catch the gracious baptism. It was only a momentary shower, past in a
burst of sunshine, but it left its chrism on her forehead and hair and
made her feel more akin to flower and tree. How many gifts were falling
from the hand of spring! To the birds the joy of mating and nesting; to
the roots and seeds in the dark, cold earth warmth and moisture and a
resurrection morn; and to the ancients of the forest a vesture as fresh
as that which clothes the sapling of the spring.

Surely we have severed some tie that once bound us to the Great Mother's
heart or this outflow and inflow of life and beauty that we call spring
would touch men and women too, and then would come the Golden Age.
Nature is kinder to her trees and flowers than she is to her sons and
daughters. The girl who lifted her forehead to the sacrament of the rain
should have received a blessing that would touch her face with the color
of the rose and put the strength and grace of the young trees into her
limbs. But how sad and strange she looked, flitting through the vernal
freshness of the forest! Her faded calico gown hung limp over her thin
body, and her hair and cheek were as faded as the gown. She should have
been a nymph, but she was only a tired, worn daughter of the soil, and
amid all this opulence of giving there was no gift for her except the
ecstatic yearning that was welling up in her heart and leading her here
and there in search of something she could not name.

How sweet t