grasses,
the five-pointed white stars of the little marsh bell-flower are no
more dismayed by the stately beauty of the tall blue bell-flower over
the fence, with its long strings of blossoms set on edge like dainty
Delft-blue saucers, than the Pleiades are shamed by the splendor of
Aldebaran and Betelguese on a bright night in November. Clover-like
heads of the milkwort decorate the bank, and among the mosses around
the bases of the trees the little shin-leaf lifts its pretty white
racemes.

Twisting and twining among the hazel, long stems of wild yam display
pretty leaves in graceful strings, each leaf set at the angle which
secures the greatest amount of light. On the wire fence the
bittersweet hangs and reaches from thence to the top of the low
hawthorne, seeking the strength of the sun for the ripening of its
pods, which slowly change from green to yellow as the month advances.
Thickly-prickled stems of green-brier, the wild smilax, rise to the
height of the choke-cherry shrubs and the branches lift themselves
by means of two tendrils on each leaf-stalk to the most favorable
positions for the sunlight. Under these broad leaves the catbird is
concealed. Elegant epicurean, he is sampling the ripening
choke-cherries. He complains querulously at being disturbed, flirts
his tail and flies. Stout branches of sumac, with bark colored and
textured much like brown egg-shell, sustain a canopy of wild grape,
the clusters of green fruit only partly hidden by the broad leaves.
Curiously beautiful are the sumac's leaves, showing long leaf-stalks
of pink purple and pretty leaflets strung regularly on either side.
The sumac's fruit, unlike the grape's, seeks no concealment; proudly
lifting its glowing torches above the leafy canopy, it lights the old
road for the passing of the pageant of summer. From greenish gold to
scarlet, swiftly changing to carmine, terra cotta, crimson and garnet,
so glows and deepens the color in the torches. When comes the final
garnet glow not even the cold snows of winter can quench it.

[Illustration: "THE SUMAC'S TORCHES LIGHT UP THE OLD ROAD" (p. 35)]

Around the fence-post, where the versi-colored fungus grows, the
moon-seed winds its stems, like strands of twine. Its broad leaves are
set like tilted mirrors to catch and reflect the light. Trailing among
the grass the pea-vine lifts itself so that its blossoms next month
shall attract the bees. The wild hop is reaching over the bushes for
the br