ke the hand of a
child reaching to its mother's breast with wordless love and
tenderness inexpressible. The caress makes a lullaby of the weird
song above, and in it I hear no longer the lonely cry of ghostly
space, but only one more expression of the homely peace and mother
love that seems to dwell always in the sheltered nooks of the
pasture.

CHAPTER XXI

RED CEDAR LORE

The rough November winds which roar through the bare branches of
the tall trees ride over spaces of sun-steeped calm in the
sheltered pastures. Here often summer slips back and dances for a
day, arrayed in all the jewels of the year. The older birches toss
amber-brown beads upon her as she sways by, but the little ones
dance with her, their temples bound with gold bangles which autumn
gave them. The lady birches are in fashion this year most surely.
Now that they have doffed summer draperies it is easy to note
their scant, close-hobbled skirts and the gleam of white ankles
through the most diaphanous of hose. Perhaps the birches, have
never worn things any other way but I do not seem to remember them
so in past years. I always suspect them of being devoted to the
mode of the moment and likely to appear next year in crinoline, or
whatever else Paris dictates. But that is true only of the grown-ups.
The birch children are the same always, slender sweet little
folk, than whom summer could have no more lovely companions for
her farewell romps in the pasture.

*****

But the most virile of all the pasture's personalities is that of
the red cedar. When the keen autumn winds blow and toss the plumes
of these Indian chieftains they wrap their olive green blankets
but the closer about them and seem to stalk the mossy levels in
dignity or gather in erect, silent groups to discuss weighty
affairs of the tribe. Thus for the larger ones, tall warriors that
in their time have travelled far, have met many warriors and
learned wisdom from the meeting. There is no solemnity about
these, but there is dignity and a vivid personality which it is
hard to match in any other tree. It is hard to think of these as
of the vegetable world. I suspect them of standing immobile only
at their will and of being capable of trooping up hill and over
into some other pasture should they see fit, as readily as the
woodchucks would, or any other four-footed denizens of the place.

The greater trees of the pasture do not seem to carry such
personality. Many of them are