The Brimming Cup

An Afternoon in the Life of Elly Crittenden, aet. 8 Years April 6.

Elly Crittenden had meant to go straight home from school as usual with

the other children, Paul and Mark, and Addle and Ralph Powers. And as

usual somehow she was ever so far behind them, so far that there wasn't

any use trying to catch up. Paul was hurrying to go over and see that

new old man next door, as usual. She might as well not try, and just

give up, and get home ever so late, the way she always did. Oh well,

Father wasn't at home, and Mother wouldn't scold, and it was nice to

walk along just as slow as you wanted to, and feel your rubber boots

squizzle into the mud. How good it did seem to have real mud, after

the long winter of snow! And it was nice to hear the brooks everywhere,

making that dear little noise and to see them flashing every-which-way

in the sun, as they tumbled along downhill. And it was nice to smell

that smell . . . what was that sort of smell that made you know the

sugaring-off had begun? You couldn't smell the hot boiling sap all the

way from the mountain-sides, but what you did smell made you think of

the little bark-covered sap-houses up in the far woods, with smoke and

white steam coming out from all their cracks, as though there was

somebody inside magicking charms and making a great cloud to cover it,

like Klingsor or the witch-ladies in the Arabian Nights. There was a

piece of music Mother played, that was like that. You could almost see

the white clouds begin to come streeling out between the piano-keys, and

drift all around her. All but her face that always looked through.

The sun shone down so warm on her head, she thought she might take off

her woolen cap. Why, yes, it was plenty warm enough. Oh, how good it

felt! How good it did feel! Like somebody actually touching your hair

with a warm, soft hand. And the air, that cool, cool air, all damp with

the thousand little brooks, it felt just as good to be cool, when you

tossed your hair and the wind could get into it. How good it did feel

to be bare-headed, after all that long winter! Cool inside your hair at

the roots, and warm outside where the sun pressed on it. Cool wind and

warm sun, two different things that added up to make one lovely feel for

a little girl. The way your hair tugged at its roots, all streaming

away; every single little hair tied tight to your head at one end, and

yet so wildly loose at the other; tight, strong, firm, and yet light and

limber and flag-flapping . . . it was like being warm and cool at the same

time, so different and yet the same.