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[Page 123]

2

Forward we go along the winding way of the road across a meadow-like [feat?] where there are buttercups like little suns and daisies like stars.

A narrow river of running water glistens through the green, twisting and turning many times in its onward course to the sea.

Its clear waters are hastily tumbling forward with just a murmur of merry and gentle laughter as though in sheer gladness that spring with her magic finger-tips has touched the world.

Now a subtle joy has come where the curse of outrageous winter was; and the little stream is full to overflowing with a flood of sparkling glee, speeding on flush with the meadow grass and flashing silver light from its ripples as it goes

The sunny buttercups and starry dasies listen

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