The crows had come back. With the fashionables of Maine they had gone south for the winter, but now on the third day of March the advance guard of the solemn, black army soared in sight. They were cawing over the green pine woods of North Marsden, they were cawing over the black spruces of South Marsden, and in Middle Marsden, where the sun had melted the snow on a few exposed knolls, they were having a serious and chattering jubilation over their return to their summer haunts.…
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