That day, he went there very early. He was all smile on the way. All things seem benign to him. The ground there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and nearly a score of crabapple trees were in full bloom. He threw himself down on the grass. The change from the buttercup glory and oak - goldened glamour of the fields to this ethereal beauty under the gray for filled him with a sort of wonder; nothing the same, save the sound of running water and the songs of the cuckoos. He lay there a long time, watching the sunlight wheel till the crab - trees threw shadows over the bluebells, his only companions a few wild bees. He was not quite sane, thinking of that morning’s kiss, and of tonight under the apple tree. In such a spot as this fauns and dryads surely live; nymphs, white as the crab -apple blossom, retired within those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken, with pointed ears. lay in wait for them. The cuckoos were still calling when he woke, there was tile sound of running- water; but the sun had couched behind the for, the hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come out. Tonight, he thought. Just as from the earth everything was pushing up, unfolding under the soft insistent fingers of an unseen hand, so were his heart and senses being pushed, unfolded. He got up and broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree.The buds were beautiful, rose pink, wild, and fresh; and so, too, the opening flowers, white, and wild, and touching. He put the spray into his coat. And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in a triumphant sigh. But the rabbits scurried away. But he had no mind for them. He was looking forward to the exciting hour.