18 ^tnantu of f^t ^vttu 



What a touch of life and hope there 

 was in the morning wind as it came 

 galloping over the billowing grass across 

 the broad meadow, up to the little back 

 porch where I had lugged the old-fash- 

 ioned dasher churn, determined to get as 

 cool a spot as possible for so warm a task. 



If the trees are the friends of men in 

 the spring-time, so they are in the au- 

 tumn, when they hang heavy with red 

 and russet fruit, and cluster with brown 

 obstinate nuts, that so long withstand 

 clubbing and poling, but rattle down so 

 easily at the touch of the first frost. 



There was always something doing in 

 the trees, too, and that made them even 

 more interesting. Perhaps it was a bird's 

 nest, or a family of young robins learn- 

 ing to fly. They might be peeping away 

 with might and main, or perhaps they 

 sat perfectly still and looked as though 



