"
But Tom was used to privation, and even to suffering.
"Ou'doors" was the only home he knew, and with all its rigors he loved it.
He looked over the barren plains, knowing, in a dull sort of way,
that they would shortly be covered with snow; but he had three coats,
two of them with sleeves, and the crunch-crunch of the snow
under his tread was music to his ears. Then, too, there were
a few hospitable firesides where he could always warm himself;
and the winter would soon be over, the birds would come again,--
new birds, singing the old songs,--the sap would mount in the trees,
the buds swell on the blueberry bushes, and the young ivory
leaves push their ruddy tips through the softening ground.
The plains were fatherland and mother-country, home and kindred, to Tom.
He loved the earth that nourished him, and he saw through all
the seeming death in nature the eternal miracle of the resurrection.
To him winter was never cruel. He looked underneath her white mantle,
saw the infant spring hidden in her warm bosom, and was content to wait.
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