There was hardly enough fresh grass to temper the winter brown into shining bronze, but a busy, awakening insect life thronged through the roots.

Surer sign than this, the flowers were coming.

A slope of buttercups flashed suddenly when the wind struck it and wild morning glory spotted a stretch of daisies with purple and dainty lavender.

To be sure, the blossoms never grew thickly enough to make strong dashes of color, but they tinted and stained the hillsides.

He began to cross noisy little watercourses, empty most of the year, but now the melting snow fed them.