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Anne's House of Dreams

18. Spring Days
The ice in the harbor grew black and rotten in the March suns; in April there were blue
waters and a windy, white-capped gulf again; and again the Four Winds light
begemmed the twilights.
"I'm so glad to see it once more," said Anne, on the first evening of its reappearance.
"I've missed it so all winter. The northwestern sky has seemed blank and lonely without
it."
The land was tender with brand-new, golden-green, baby leaves. There was an emerald
mist on the woods beyond the Glen. The seaward valleys were full of fairy mists at
dawn.
Vibrant winds came and went with salt foam in their breath. The sea laughed and
flashed and preened and allured, like a beautiful, coquettish woman. The herring
schooled and the fishing village woke to life. The harbor was alive with white sails
making for the channel. The ships began to sail outward and inward again.
"On a spring day like this," said Anne, "I know exactly what my soul will feel like on the
resurrection morning."
"There are times in spring when I sorter feel that I might have been a poet if I'd been
caught young," remarked Captain Jim. "I catch myself conning over old lines and verses
I heard the schoolmaster reciting sixty years ago. They don't trouble me at other times.
Now I feel as if I had to get out on the rocks or the fields or the water and spout them."
Captain Jim had come up that afternoon to bring Anne a load of shells for her garden,
and a little bunch of sweet-grass which he had found in a ramble over the sand dunes.
"It's getting real scarce along this shore now," he said. "When I was a boy there was a-
plenty of it. But now it's only once in a while you'll find a plot--and never when you're
looking for it. You jest have to stumble on it--you're walking along on the sand hills,
never thinking of sweet-grass--and all at once the air is full of sweetness-- and there's
the grass under your feet. I favor the smell of sweet-grass. It always makes me think of
my mother."
"She was fond of it?" asked Anne.
"Not that I knows on. Dunno's she ever saw any sweet-grass. No, it's because it has a
kind of motherly perfume--not too young, you understand--something kind of seasoned
and wholesome and dependable--jest like a mother. The schoolmaster's bride always
kept it among her handkerchiefs. You might put that little bunch among yours, Mistress
 
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