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

OUR SPRINGTIME 109
to her as they were to us in the Ions iiRo are the first httlc
spring blossoms pushing through the leaf mold.
There was always more or less of mystery for us about the
migration of birds and their return over the pathless fields of
air to the same spot on each recurring spring, where they would
announce their arrival with their own peculiar call. "Phoebe!
Phoe-be!" was enough to start a whole family from the
breakfast table to the front porch, where for years the same
announcement had been made in early spring ever since we
children could remember. For this reason mother would
usually begin "Story Spring" with the return of Phoebe
bird; next she pictured for our imaginations the unfolding of
the first of our garden flowers — daffodils, snowdrops, and
delicate narcissus, then the springing in the woods of violets
and spring beauties, and the leafing out of forest trees and the
coming of bloom to the orchard; and next with sweet words
she painted the return of the birds, tdl we could almost hear
their concert down in the south orchard.
At last these pretty stories were a reality. The birds began
their musical festival in the dear old orchard south of the
house which sloped down into that south field of ours, broken
by many a little wet weather branch where, as soon as it was
warm, we delighted to wade. There, too, our brothers found
little cascades where they set their overshot wheels which
gave them such pleasing results. These mimic mills gave
them the same kind of happiness that a water mill gives to a
grown man. Romps in the barn, "hide and seek," cracking
walnuts and hickory nuts and popping corn were not the only
recreations now — we were out and away
I remember a large undertaking of one spring, at least for
as very young people as we. It was to open a sugar camp all
by ourselves. Down by the big spring was a small grove of
maple trees where once upon a time our people had had a
camp and made syrup. Brother William was a large, strong
boy of perhaps twelve, I was ten and Joe was seven, while
Ida was almost too young to share in this enterprise as to the
work, but she went with us. The first thing to do was to look