In the afternoon to Saw Mill Brook with W. E. C. Snow all gone from Minott’s hillside. The willow at the red house shines in the sun. The boys have come out under the hill to pitch coppers. Watts sits on his door-step. It is like the first of April. The wind is west. At the turnpike bridge, water stands a foot or two deep over the ice . . .

  The artist is at work in the Deep Cut. The telegraph harp sounds.