It was the first day of spring. Sunshine, which had never left the land in Florida and California, now poked timidly into the Midwest; but in the Rocky Mountains snow and heavy skies still weighed on lonely cabins. Spring was coming; it was almost here.
Down South, Atlanta was decked with the soft pink bloom of magnolia, the white tracery of "breath-of-spring" shrubs, the yellow islands of jonquils in deep green grass. Hopeful fishermen ringed Atlanta's Piedmont Park Lake; but they never caught anything. On farms, fresh-turned furrows lay brick-red in the sun;...
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