They wrote out a list of the months,
opposite each the things all of them could suggest which seemed to
pertain to that month alone, and then tried to sift until they found
something typical. Mrs. Comstock was a great help. Her mother had
been Dutch and had brought from Holland numerous quaint sayings and
superstitions easily traceable to Pliny's Natural History; and in Mrs.
Comstock's early years in Ohio she had heard much Indian talk among her
elders, so she knew the signs of each season, and sometimes they helped.
Always her practical thought and sterling common sense were useful. When
they were afield until exhausted they came back to the cabin for food,
to prepare specimens and classify them, and to talk over the day.
Sometimes Philip brought books and read while Elnora and her mother
worked, and every night Mrs. Comstock asked for the violin. Her perfect
hunger for music was sufficient evidence of how she had suffered without
it. So the days crept by, golden, filled with useful work and pure
pleasure.
The grosbeak had led the family in the maple abroad and a second brood,
in a wild grape vine clambering over the well, was almost ready for
flight. The dust lay thick on the country roads, the days grew warmer;
summer was just poising to slip into fall, and Philip remained, coming
each day as if he had belonged there always.
One warm August afternoon Mrs. Comstock looked up from the ruffle on
which she was engaged to see a blue-coated messenger enter the gate.
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