by Ralph Connor

1917. The book begins: Spring had come. Despite the many wet and gusty days which April had thrust in rude challenge upon reluctant May, in the glory of the triumphant sun which flooded the concave blue of heaven and the myriad shaded green of earth, the whole world knew today, the whole world proclaimed that spring had come. The Yearly miracle had been performed. The leaves of the maple trees lining the village street unbound from their winter casings, the violets that lifted brave blue eyes from the vivid grass carpeting the roadside banks, the cherry and plum blossoms in the orchards decking the still leafless trees with their pink and white favors, the timid grain tingeing with green the brown fields that ran up to the village street on every side-all shouted in chorus that spring had come. See other titles by this author available from Kessinger Publishing.