Have you been watching the buds open their eyes these spring
days? They seem to have come out just to see what is going on
in this wonderful world. Their number is increasing daily, but
if you had put your ear close to the first and tiniest bud
of spring, it would have whispered: “I am a hint of what all
buds will be when waked out of their wintry sleep.” Will not
the children sing for joy when the daisies come? Well, if you
could somehow find the first daisy that peeps through the sod,
it would say: “I am a sample of what the daisy harvest will be
when Mother Summer has drest us all up in robes of gold.” On
the brow of a certain hill, I once enjoyed more than a passing
acquaintance with a June apple-tree. I used to watch for the
coming of its fruit as they that watch for the morning. Now,
there was a tradition that June apples were not good until they
fell of their own accord. Sometimes, in spying out the land, I
would find only one apple upon the ground. Of course, one apple
to a growing boy is little more than a delusion and a snare,
and it required more than Eve-like fortitude not to shake the
tree. But after these many years, what I remember most of all
is the taste of that one first apple. Precious in itself and
very scarce, so it seemed to me, still it told of the good times
coming when its luscious, juicy brothers would yield up their
secrets, too.--F. F. SHANNON.
(1105)
=Fishermen Superstitious=--See SUPERSTITIOUS.