Purple Springs. Nellie L. McClung

      From the dull tomb of yesterday, with its cavern-like coldness and gloom, had come the resurrection of a new day, bright, blue, sparkling, cloudless, for March had slipped in quietly in the night, with a gentle breeze of wonderful softness, a quiet breeze, but one that knew its business, and long before daylight it had licked the hard edges of the drifts into icy blisters, and had purred its way into all sorts of forgotten corners where the snow lay thickest.

      It went past Pearl's face now with velvety smoothness—patting her cheeks with a careless hand, like a loving friend who hurries by with no time for anything but this swift re-assurance. But Pearl knew that the wind and the sun and the crisp white snow, on which the sunbeams danced and sparkled, were her friends, and were throbbing with joy this morning, because it was her great day.

      She went in at last, remembering that the children must be washed and fed for school, and found Danny's garter for him just in time to save him from the gulf of despair which threatened him. She made up the two tin pails of lunch with which her young brothers would beguile the noontide hour. She put a button on Mary's spat, in response to her request of "Aw, say Pearl, you do this—I can't eat and sew." The sudden change in the weather forced a change in the boys' foot-gear, and so there had to be a frenzied hunt for rubbers and boots to replace the frost-repelling but pervious moccasin.

      One by one, as the boys were ready, fed, clothed and rubbered, they were started on their two-mile journey over the sunny, snowy road, Danny being the first to so emerge, for with his short, fat legs, he could not make the distance in as short a time as the others.

      "Mr. Donald wants you to come over on Friday, Pearl—I almost forgot to tell you—he wants you to talk to us about the city, and the schools you were in—and all that. I told him you would!"

      This was from Jimmy, the biggest of the Watson boys now attending school.

      "All right," said Pearl, "sure I will."

      There was more to the story, though, and Jimmy went on—

      "And the Tuckers said they bet you thought yourself pretty smart since you'd been to the city. …

      "And then what happened," asked Pearl, when he paused;

      "He went home—it wouldn't stop bleedin'! but Mr. Donald says a good nose-bleed wouldn't hurt him—though of course it was wrong to fight—but it was no fight—you know what they're like—one good thump—and they're done!"

      "Good for you, Jimmy" said his sister approvingly, "never pick a quarrel or hit harder than you need, that's all!—but if trouble comes—be facing the right way!"

      "You bet," said Jimmy, as he closed the door behind him and the stillness which comes after the children have gone fell on the Watson home.

      "Sure and ain't the house quiet when they're gone," said Mrs. Watson, looking out of the window across the gleaming landscape, dotted in six places by her generous contribution to the Chicken Hill school.

      "And it won't be long until they're gone—for good."

      "Cheer up, honest woman," cried Pearl gaily, "you havn't even lost either Teddy or me, and we're the eldest. It looks to me as if you will have a noisy house for quite a while yet, and I wouldn't begin to worry over anything so far away—in fact, ma, it's a good rule not to worry till you have to, and don't do it then!"

      Pearl was bringing back "the room" to the state of tidiness it enjoyed during school hours, moving about with joyous haste, yet with strict attention to every detail, which did not escape her mother's eye.

      "It's grand to be as light of heart as you are, Pearlie child," she said, "I'm often afraid for you—when I think of all the sad things in life and you so sure that everything will happen right. It is to them that the world is brightest that the darkest days can come, and the lightest heart sometimes has heaviest mournin'."

      A little wither of disappointment went over Pearl's bright face, but she shook it off impatiently. She wished her mother would not talk like this on this day—of all days.

      "Don't spoil a good day, ma, with sad talk. Look out at the Spring sun there, and the cattle, even the wild ones from the range, with their sides steaming and then nosing around so happy now, for getting all about the bad times they had even as late as last evening. There's no use telling them there's cold days coming—they wouldn't believe now—and anyway they'll know soon enough. Isn't it best to let every one have their sunny day—without a cloud on it."

      Before her mother could form an answer, the one long and two short rings came on the phone. Pearl's heart turned over in its bounding joy. It had come—she knew it had come.

      She took down the receiver:

      "Hello," she said, in a thin voice.

      "Pearl," said the voice, deep, mellow, eager. She thought she had remembered what his voice was like, but she hadn't. It was a hundred times sweeter than it had been in her memory.

      "Yes," she said, holding the receiver so tightly her knuckles went white with the pressure.

      "What day is it, Pearl," he said, with the laugh in his voice, the bantering laugh that made his patients love him.

      "O I know" she said—"I know."

      "You haven't forgotten what we said?"

      "Not a word of it."

      His voice came nearer, though he spoke lower.

      "The train is not in yet, it is stuck out in the hills, but likely to get out any minute. Dr. Brander is on it, coming out from the city to operate for me in a very serious case, I'm not sure when I can get out—but you'll wait for me—won't you, Pearl?"

      She put her red young lips close to the transmitter.

      "For a thousand years!" she said.

      "Well, it won't be that long," he said, with his happy laugh.

      Pearl knew exactly how his brows were lifted, and his eyes wide opened.

      "But it's great to have as good a margin, Pearl—and listen—" his voice fell again until it seemed to whisper in her ear—"did you happen to notice what sort of a day it is?"

      "Well," said Pearl, "I am not surprised. Didn't I tell you it would be?"

      "You told me!" he said.

      Then it was that from Pearlie Watson's young heart there opened up a shining path straight up into heaven, and every inch of that radiant highway was bright with the gleam of angel's wings, and as she stood there leaning against the wall, her eyes dazzled with the glory of it, it seemed as if all the sweet songs that lovers have ever sung, and all the tender words they have ever spoken came marching, gaily marching down the shining high way, right into her heart.

      Outside the sun gleamed and beat on the melting snow, which sent back quivery vibrations that smote the eyeballs like fire. The cattle shook the water from their sun-dazzled eyes, and turned their heads away from it, but it climbed steadily higher until it stood right over them, and blazing down upon the snowy world, defied old man Winter to his face.

      Pearl was never quite sure about it in after years. But that day she did not doubt her eyes, that star dust danced in the waves of sunshine; that the gray snow birds played crack the whip outside the window; that the willow hedge, palpitating in the sunshine, beat time with its silvery branches to the music that lilted through her heart; that the blue in the sky was bluer than it had been, and the sunshine more golden than it ever was in the highest noon in highest June.

      She was quite sure it was so, for every spot of color within doors was glorified too. The roses in the cushions on the lounge glowed like a fire in the heart of a green wood; the cat's eyes gleamed like olivines, but of course Pearl knew from the way he rubbed his head against her shoulder as she sat on the lounge beside him, and from the way he blinked at her—he knew, having no doubt in some occult cat-way, listened in on the phone! There was no mistaking his swaggering air of importance—he was in on it! and gave much credit to himself