Yet so truly unselfish was her nature,--despite the unlimited indulgences when, visiting in congenial homes where she was petted and admired, full of the intoxication of the social triumphs, she had out of the abundance of her heart exclaimed: “Oh, I am so happy! happy! happy!”--there was sure to follow a time of anxious solicitude, when she asked herself, “But how has it been with him--with dear old father?” It was so generous of him to spare so much of her society; so good of him to make her orphan way so smooth and fair. She could read in his pictured face something of the loneliness and the disappointments he had borne; something of the heartaches he must have suffered. All this she recalled, the pleasure of it and the pain of it, the pride and joy of it. What a delight it was to make her visit short, and surprise him by returning home before he expected her. CHAPTER X. Time went swiftly. The seasons followed each other without that fierceness in them to which one is accustomed in the North. The very frosts were gentle; slowly and kindly they stripped the green robes from tree and thicket, gave ample warning to the robin, linnet and ruby-throat before taking down the leafy hangings and leaving their shelter open to the chill rains of December. The wet kine and horses turned away from the North and stood in slanting rains with bowed heads. Christmas passed, and New Year. Pretty soon spring was in the valleys, creeping first for shelter shyly, in the pause of the blustering wind that was blowing the last remnants of old winter from the land. There was a general spreading of dry brush over the spaded farm country; then the sweet, clean smell of its burning and a misty veil of thin blue smoke hanging everywhere throughout the clearing. As soon as the fear of frost was gone, all the air was a fount of freshness. The earth smiled its gladness, and the laughing waters prattled of the kindness of the sun. When the dappled softness of the sky gave some earnest of its mood, a brisk south wind arose and the blessed rain came driving cold, yet most refreshing. At its ceasing, coy leaves peeped out, and the bravest blossoms; the dogwoods, full-flowered, quivered like white butterflies poised to dream. In every wet place the little frogs began to pipe to each other their joy that spring was holding her revel. The heart of the people was not sluggish in its thankfulness to God, for if there were no spring, no seed time, there would be no harvest. Now summer was all back again. Song birds awakening at dawn made the woods merry carolling to mates and younglings in the nests. All nature was in glad, gay earnest. Busy times, corn in blossom rustling in the breeze, blackberries were ripe, morning-glories under foot, the trumpet flower flaring above some naked girdled tree. Open meadows full of sun where the hot bee sucks the clover, the grass tops gather purple, and ox-eyed daisies thrive in wide unshadowed acres.