"Spring is jest
about here, and then uncle's little Dan'l will stop
coughin', and run out of doors and pick flowers," he
told the child beside the window.
Spring came that year with a riotous rush. Blos-
soms, leaves, birds, and flowers -- all arrived pell-
mell, fairly smothering the world with sweetness
and music. In May, about the first of the month,
there was an intensely hot day. It was as hot as
midsummer. Old Daniel with little Dan'l went
afield. It was, to both, as if they fairly saw the car-
nival-arrival of flowers, of green garlands upon tree-
branches, of birds and butterflies. "Spring is right
here!" said old Daniel. "Summer is right here!
Pick them vilets in that holler, little Dan'l." The
old man sat on a stone in the meadowland, and
watched the child in the blue-gleaming hollow gather
up violets in her little hands as if they were jewels.
The sun beat upon his head, the air was heavy with
fragrance, laden with moisture. Old Daniel wiped
his forehead. He was heated, but so happy that he
was not aware of it. He saw wonderful new lights
over everything. He had wielded love, the one in-
vincible weapon of the whole earth, and had con-
quered his intangible and dreadful enemy. When,
for the sake of that little beloved life, his own life
had become as nothing, old Daniel found himself
superior to it.
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