h
after the presence of crowds had drained him of his virtue. And we--we
wrap ourselves in the mantle of Care; we build walls of stone to shut
out from us all sweet influences of Nature; we sing of "an everlasting
spring", and then let the fleeting hours of our earthly springs go by
without once tasting their full sweetness; we look for a heaven beyond
death, unmindful of the heaven within and around us; we deem the light
that falls through a stained glass window more religious than the light
of open day, and a waxen taper more sacred than a star; we shorten life
by cutting it off from its source, and at last, worn out with sordid
cares, we give our bodies back to earth without having known one hour of
the real joy of life.

Vague, half-formed thoughts like these were in Miranda's mind as she
paused and looked up in response to a voice from a neighboring oak:
"Chic-o-ree! Chic-o-ree!" The syllables were clear and distinct as if
spoken by a human voice, and from a tree across the path came the
answer: "Chic-o-ree! Chic-o-ree!" All her consciousness had been merged
in seeing, but now she was aware of a chorus of voices calling,
chirping, whistling, trilling, fluting, warbling from far and near, the
orchestra of May assembled a month in advance of its usual time.

"If we could only live outdoors!" she whispered to herself. All the high
emotions that fill the heart of a poet in spring were stirring in the
breast of the country girl, and finding no way of expression they could
only change into poignant longings that she herself but half understood.
There was a puzzled, baffled look on her face as she stood hesitant,
wondering what step to take next. So many remembered things she had
found in the woods!--music, perfume, light winds and warmth and flowers
and trees, but there was still something, nameless, elusive, that had
once been hers, and she must find it before the day ended.

* * * * *

She stooped to gather a violet growing by a fallen tree, and the second
time that day a wave of memory and feeling swept over her, and in one
exquisite moment she found the lost treasure! For the heart that leaped
and throbbed faster at sight of the violet was the heart of a little
child.

* * * * *

It was past the middle of the afternoon. The wind had died down to a
mere occasional whisper, the birds chirped more softly, and there seemed
to be a hush and a pause, as i