CHAPTER XXII
CANDLEMAS EVE
"Couthin Marget, dost think the ground-hog can see his shadow when he comes out of his hole to-morrow?"
"I fear it, Cecil. See how bright the west is!"
It was Candlemas Eve at St. Mary's. All day Cecil had been in the woods gathering snowdrops for the shrine of the Virgin, and binding bay-leaves into wreaths to decorate Our Lady's Chapel. Now, at sunset, he was resting with his head against Margaret Brent's knee under the great mulberry-tree on the bluff.
"Then the winter will be long?"
"So they say."
"And hard?"
"That's what all the grandames tell."
"Is it a falsehood or a truehood?"
"True as most sayings belike."