Chapter 1
_ CHAPTER I
Blossom week in Maryland! The air steeped in perfume and soft as a caress； the sky a luminous gray interwoven with threads of silver, flakings of pearl and tiny scales of opal.
All the hill-sides smothered in bloom--of peach, cherry, and pear； in waves, windrows and drifts of pink and ivory. Here and there, fluffy white, a single tree upheld like a bride‘s bouquet ready for my lady‘s hand when she goes to meet her lord. In the marshes flames of fringed azaleas and the tracings of budding birch and willow outspread like the sticks of fans. At their feet, shouldering their way upward, big dock leaves--vigorous, lusty leaves--eager to flaunt their verdure in the new awakening. Everywhere the joyous songs of busy birds fresh from the Southland--flying shuttles these, of black, blue and brown, weaving homes in the loom of branch and bud.
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To the trained eye of young Adam Gregg, the painter, all this glory of blossom, hill-

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