Spring is the most wonderful, because she has not to cover a clean, bare field with new leaves and flowers, but to drive before her and to put away the hanging-on, over-surviving raffle of half-green things which the gentle winter has suffered to live, and to make the partly-dressed stale earth feel new and young once more.
There were yells of “Silence, thou man’s cub!”
but for so mean a person as myself a dry bone is a good feast