These winds blow rayther strong--stronger sometimes nor what feels
pleasant. Ther's monny a chap has a race wi' his hat, an' it luks a
sheepish sooart ov a trick, an' iverybody can affooard to laff at him
just becoss it isn't them. But for all that aw alus think at th'
year's niver getten a reight start till after March. It's like as if
it comes blusterin' an' rooarin', just o' purpose to put things into
reight trim. It fotches daan th' owd watter spaats, an' lets fowk know
whear ther's a slate at's shakey. It gives th' trees a bit ov a whisk
raand an' wuthers abaat as if it wor detarmined to clear all th' maase
nooks aat, an' give us a fair start for th' fine weather. But that
isn't all it does; it finds aat if yo've ony owd teeth 'at's rayther
tender, (an' if ther's owt i'th' world at 'll wear aat a chap's
patience its th' tooith wark. Its bad enuff, but what maks it war to
bide is, iverybody can tell yo ha to cure it, an' for all that they
wor as fast what to do wi' it when they had it as onybody else.) But
what does it matter if it does find aat bits o' waik spots, there's
nowt like knowin whear they are, for then yo do stand a chonce o'
bein' able to tak care on 'em. But it does summat else beside--it
brings a fine day or two--an' th' grass begins to luk a trifle
greener, an' here an' thear i' bits o' shady nooks an' corners
sometimes yo can find a daisy or two; an' what is ther luks bonnier
nor th' first daisy yo find peepin up? It may be a bit ov a pindered
lookin thing, but its a daisy; an' aw dooant think at th' grandest
yo'll find all th' year 'll please yo hauf as weel as this. Little
children clap ther hands when they see it, becoss it tells 'em ther's
some fine weather comin' bye an' bye; an' they pluck it to tak hooam
wi' em' to show ther mother; an' ther grandfayther smiles when he sees
it, for it whispers a bit o' comfort to him, an' tells him to cheer
up! for th' time o'th' year's comin' when he'll be able to goa aat
o'th' door an' sit o'th green grass, an' hear th' burds sing, an' let
th' sun shine on his face, an' he willn't be feeard o' bringin' th'
rhumatic back wi' him; an' takkin it altogether it's one o' th' mooast
pleasin' things i' th' year is findin' a daisy i' March. It's strange
ha folk alter in a few years time. Luk at a child when its abaat five
or six years owd--see ha delighted it is wi' a gurt bunch ov innocent
lukkin' buttercups an' daisies. Noatice th' same child when he's
getten fourteen or fifteen years owd. He couldn't fashion to be seen
carryin' a bunch. See him agean when he's a man. He's noa time for
daisies then. What's th' reason? Daisies are as bonny nah as iver
they wor. Ther is a difference somewhear, but it isn't i'th' daisies.