So today, as the Peon wheeled me out to the maple, he stopped at one of the jonquil beds while I climbed down to brush aside the leaves which protect the bulbs from frost, and to stir the earth with loving fingers. Not yet. Life is at work, I know, but too deep down to be seen as yet. I drew the leaves back again, my hands shaking a little with the joy of grubbing in the dirt again—real outdoor dirt, that runs clear through to blue sky on the other side, instead of stopping at a saucer six inches from the top of a pot. How many years! Would I ever make up for the lost years, I wondered, and then caught my breath and the Peon’s hand with a laugh. For the cardinal was singing again—_Cheer! Cheer! Cheer! A-wet-year! A-wet-year! Cheer! Cheer!_ It was a dull, cloudy day; but vision had come to him, and what he saw he would live up to. He sat on the grape arbor, back of the jonquil bed, and sang, deliberately at first, stout-heartedly, but with a rising tide of joy—_A-wet-year! Cheer! Cheer!_ A wet year seems to be his idea of heaven and spring-time rolled into one. Rain—and swelling life! The lost years will be made good yet. And shall one grudge the time for rain? * * * * * _January 30th._ I ventured on the subject of Caro with David last night, and find myself wondering many things. The fact that I have always admitted the children’s full right to reserve from me any secret they wished to keep largely accounts, I believe, for the closeness of their confidence. And I didn’t intend to pry now—only to open a way in case he chose to take it, as I used sometimes to make confidences easy for him as a child. “Bob White is laying siege to Cousin Jane’s favor, Davy, dear,” I said, using the baby name he still loves in our private talks. “She has sold him her good-will for a four-course lunch.” David laughed a little. “Worst affliction could happen to him, I should think. What on earth does he want with it?” “She thinks he’s in love with Caro.” “Probably is. Most of the fellows are; and Bob’s nobody’s fool.” He had cuddled his brown head under my hand as he sat on a stool by my bed, and I couldn’t see his face. His voice was so very natural that it suggested an effort to make it so. “Well, I doubt if he displayed any special wisdom when he tried to win Cousin Jane over—if he tried,” I said. “When you go courting, I don’t think you’ll spend much time on the girl’s guardians.” “Not much time on anybody, you mean, till I get things settled.” “And you’d rather I waited with the rest, dear, wouldn’t you?” He lifted his head and sat facing me, stroking my hand. “I couldn’t talk about it, little Mammy, even to you. But I wouldn’t mind your knowing about it if you could understand without words. You have always done that when I couldn’t talk.”