friend. He had often roamed about for half a day among the hills and along the deserted shore without rhyme or reason; and in this intimate communion with nature he at last found some recompense for the loss of human intercourse. Everything here continued to be fresh and wonderful to him. He had never before imagined that anything could be so captivating, as, for example, the slow passage of grey wintry clouds over the earth; or anything so enchanting as listening to the wild cries of the crows as they flew homewards over the fields at sunset.
His heart leapt with delight when, one day in the beginning of February, he discovered the first pale shoots in the ditches—and the first lark! Never would he forget the moment when, in the deep silence of the fields, he suddenly heard the ethereal trills of a lark, sure forerunner of the summer, while all around, still lay bound in winter's grasp.
On this occasion he went down to the shore, where he was in the habit of spending some time watching the gulls as they flew about, mute and restless, as if guarding some great secret. But to-day the beach was empty. The warmth and the exhalations of the meadows had driven the flocks of birds towards the mouth of the fiord and the sea. He continued his walk along the shore, revelling in the sight of the vast blue shallows of the fiord, in which the distant fishing villages and the wooded slopes of the opposite shore were reflected with wonderful clearness.
