But February is nearly past, and a March gale, impatient of the slow progress of the year, has sprung up among the hills before his time, and rends the clouds over Demeyet, tossing them scornfully to the east and to the west, when at last they hear Harry come home. And he does not come unexpectedly; but has written before, stating day and hour, which he religiously keeps. His dress is worn, and out of order; his shining new portmanteau frayed and dim, some articles of its contents lost, and almost all injured; but he says nothing of excuse or apology for his long delay, and is fretted and irritated only when he hears of its results, liberally blaming everybody concerned. However, by and bye, everything goes on again--goes on after a fashion, languidly, and without success; for Harry no longer cares about his fields. CHAPTER IV. ... Let them go, To ear the land that hath some hope to grow, For I have none. KING RICHARD II. IT is the seed time--the time of hope. The lawn at Allenders is traced with an outline of living gold, crocuses clustering up like children out of the fresh awakened soil; and day by day the brown husks swell upon the trees, and the fields add pile by pile to their velvet mantle. Your heart leaps when you stand in the morning sunshine, and hear the burn call to the river, and the river, with its happy voice pass on to the great sea. And all along this highway through which the children pass to school, the hedges put out timid leaves, venturing upon the chill, which in the morning brightness bid their lingering neighbours courage; and down among the long dewy grass, you can find here and there an early primrose, half timid, half triumphant, holding up its delicate chalice to receive the dew of heaven. The cows are marching gravely to their sweet pastures, the little “herds” straying after them, with all the winter’s “schulin” over, perchance to be dreamt upon through these meditative silent days, perchance to spring up in songs, like the natural voices of the springs that run among the hills, perchance to be merrily forgotten; but cheerful voices ring about the land, and tender sunshine glistens on Demeyet, and an odour and fragrance of sweet Hope, makes the wide atmosphere blessed. Sweet Hope! inheritance and portion of human hearts, which God gives not to his very angels, but only unto _us_.