Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

io8 ANNALS OF OUR ANCESTORS
I often wonder where they are all gone. In our childhood,
after a heavy rain, when the orchard trees were in fresh bloom
the bird concert was the finest of the season. Where now are
those singing companies that used to come on swift wing each
spring.?
We looked forward to the time of bird and blossom through
all the tedious winter, though that season, too, had its diversions.
The slopes and little hills about us, when covered with
snow, made fine coasting places. While chopping, father once
found a crooked branch m the woods just suitable to make sled
runners for us. When it was completed, what a wealth of
happy hours that sled brought us! It was fine for hauling in
backlogs and stove wood, turning work into play. How happy
the boys were when they had the rick of wood on the back
porch, for after that, the coasting! It was not always good
coasting, for those southern Ohio winters were quite open;
the snow often melted as it fell, and again it went off with rain
and flood and the water would stand on the surface some
three or four inches deep. Rubber overshoes were in those
days almost unknown, and wet feet were the rule when people
had to go abroad. We wore heavy shoes and picked our
way, crossing fences and bridging little swollen rills with
chunks or stones. Small wonder that we looked forward with
eagerness to the springtime.
Toward the close of winter we grew very weary of cold
and snow, and the return of outdoor freedom became the
topic of many a conversation. On dark and stormy days,
when driving wind and rain made sad music on the roof, we
called on our mother for "Story Spring." To add more cheer
we built a blazing fire upon the hearth, and all drew near to
hear our mother tell in her own interesting marwier of the
happy time when we could be out-of-doors beside the little
brook watching for crayfish and minnows, or in the woods
searching for signs of Nature's awaking, which has held its
old charm for us through all the years, even to the time of life's
winter. This spring my own grandchild searched as eagerly
as we in the ravine across from her Minnesota home. As dear