The fact that it was springtime might also have had something to do with it.
The morning after her arrival, Betty Jo set to work typing the manuscript.

Brian went to his work on the timbered hillside.

In the evenings, Brian worked over the typewitten pages,--revising, correcting, perfecting,--and then, as Betty Jo made the final copy for the printers, they went critically over the work together.
So the hours flew past on busy wings, and the days of the springtime drew toward summer.

The tender green of the new-born leaves and grasses changed to a stronger, deeper tone.

The air, which had been so filled with the freshness and newness of bursting buds and rain-blessed soil, and all the quickening life of tree and bush and plant, now carried the perfume of strongly growing things,--the feel of maturing life.
To Brian, the voices of the river brought a fuller, deeper message, with a subtle undertone of steady and enduring purpose.
From the beginning, Betty Jo established for herself the habit of leaving her work at the typewriter in the afternoons, and going for a walk over the hills.