Sweet Content by Mary Louisa Molesworth — Read

When I said "a pleasant day _for November_," I think I should have left out the two last words. For they rather sound as if November was rarely pleasant, and though this may be the case in some parts of England it is certainly not so with us. Our Novembers are generally this way: there are some perfectly horrible days, rain, rain, slow and hopeless; not heavy, but so steady that you long to give a shake to the clouds and tell them to be quick about it. And then for a day or two, everything and everywhere are just _sopping_; it's almost worse than the rain, for the sky still looks grim and sulky and as if it more than half thought of beginning again. But _then_ -- there comes sometimes a little wind, and faint gleams of sunshine, sparkle out, growing steadier and fuller, and then we generally have a few days together of weather that for pleasantness can scarcely be matched. They are soft, quiet, dreamy days; the sunshine is never bright exactly, but gentle and a little melancholy. There is a queer feeling of having been naughty and being forgiven: the wind comes in little whispering sobs, like a tiny child that can't leave off crying all at once; the whole world seems tired and yet calm and hopeful in a far-off sort of way. Somehow these days make me feel much _gooder_ ("better" doesn't do so well) than even the brightest and loveliest spring or summer-time. They make me think more of Heaven -- and they make me dreadfully sorry for all the naughty selfish thoughts and feelings I have had. Altogether there is something about them I can't put in words, though once -- I will come to that "once" later on -- some one said a thing that seemed to explain it almost exactly.

And this day -- the day we went to the Yew Trees -- it was the first time mamma and I had been there for very long -- was one of those days. It was not late in November, so though it had been raining tremendously only the day before, the clearing-up process had been got through much more expeditiously than usual, and the sun had of course rather more strength still with which to help.