All nature seemed glad--cruelly, mockingly, insensately glad--lightsome, jubilant.

The birds forsook their frost-bound nests, and sang cheerily in the clear morning air.

One little linnet--so very little--perched on a delicate silver birch, and poured its full soul out of its liquid throat.
Robbie toiled painfully along with a feeble step, and with nerveless despondency on every feature of his face--his coat flying open to his woollen shirt; one of his hands thrust with his pipe into his belt; the other hand dragging after him a heavy staff; his cap pushed back from his hot forehead.
When he walked listlessly into Carlisle it was through the Botcher-gate on the south.

The clock of the cathedral was striking ten.

Robbie passed along the streets scarcely knowing his own errand or destination.