NOVEMBER 



"the afternoons are spacious and the clock ticks 

 slow," but we do not seem to have ten or more 

 consecutive days of this character, such as the 

 early records show and tradition reports. 



When the entire extent of forest over eastern 

 North America was laid bare In the course of a 

 single week by the great leaf fall, It may be 

 that there was, by the carpet of dry leaves and 

 the sun's searching rays, a sudden accumulation 

 of heat which showed Itself In what was known 

 as the Indian summer. A very pathetic story 

 Is told of a party of pioneer Frenchmen In 

 Canada so misled by this unseasonable warmth 

 as to neglect essential arrangements for shelter 

 and protection, only to find themselves in the 

 midst of a destructive blizzard. 



In November the wild flowers of the fields 

 indeed shiver by the roadside, but the garden 

 bursts into glory. The Chrysanthemums, white 

 as the snow that Is coming, yellow and orange as 

 the sunset, red — varied, deep, glowing, burning 

 red — these stand bearing the Oriental stamp of 

 their Asiatic forebears, out of doors and within, 



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