Bottle off, and permit it to stand
For three days ere you cork down each one.”
CHAPTER III.
THE WALKING CLUB.
A SOUND of girlish voices is suddenly heard in the quiet village streets, as our Walking Club, issuing from the house of one of its members, starts off on the first tramp of the season. The gay chatter and bubbling laughter blend with the twittering and chirping of the birds fluttering among the budding trees, and all these merry sounds seem in perfect harmony with the youthful gladness of the bright morning.
There is a subtle power and exhilaration in the spring sunshine that stimulates the blood, and sends it tingling through our veins, as with light-springing steps we quickly leave the village behind us and penetrate into the outlying country, stopping now and then to secure a branch of the downy pussy willow or brilliant red blossoms of the maple, and again to admire a distant view where the trees seem enveloped in a hazy mist of delicate color; on we go, exploring sequestered spots or entering deep into the woods in search of early wild flowers.
