To me it seemed that the birds came very early,--birds that are strangers to me, birds that I know; and we were glad once more in the companionship of wings. I was thankful when the swallows came, circling, flying high, flying low; wrens, old friends of mine, are building under my porch roof; a merry little blue tit, a friend quite new, disports himself among the leaves. I have heard the cuckoo calling, calling beyond the stream; you were the first to tell me that this was the cuckoo's note. English larks are very near neighbours; every day I can hear them singing at "heaven's gate." We have all been as busy as bees since the melting of the snow, humans and animals alike. Back with the first suggestion of warmer sunshine Hengist and Horsa began to crow; alas for William the Conqueror, who will never crow again! and my many queens of the hen-yard began to lay and cackle as boastfully as in times of peace. Every living thing came crawling out of hole and hiding-place and took up its task; the little gingerbread woman came back to the lych gate to sit in the sun; Puck, once more one of the family, as he grazes beyond the stream, trotted merrily to Shepperton again and again to bring seeds and young plants, for I intend to have a garden that will astonish Peter when Peter comes back from the war. It seems to me that there is an added touch of determination in the pony's gait and in the toss of his shaggy head since he became a hero of the war, an upholder of the kingdom, a defender of the faith. Madge is the busiest of all living things and will not be idle for a moment for fear of "thinking long." Never was there such a be-scrubbed, be-polished, shining house as the little red house! I tremble for my own face when I see her with the soap and sand, the brass polish, the silver polish, the long-handled mop, and the wooden pail. It is Madge with a changed face, with deepening lines between the eyes, a worrying, anxious Madge, who steals the newspaper and reads it in the kitchen before she brings it to me. I cannot help noticing that she talks less and less of the glory of England and more and more about Peter. Laconic post cards with peculiar spelling tell us that Peter is alive and well in the trenches. Peter, because of his old experience as soldier, was allowed to go speedily to the front, and is now at close quarters with the enemy.