4I 
END FRE “WOODS 
HAT do you say this morning to going to the 
woods rather than to either garden or orchard? 
Not that I am ready to take back anything I said at 
the beginning of this book about the delights of the 
orchard as a playground. For actual play I know of 
no better place. An apple tree is as good a horse as it 
is a house, as good a ship as it is a mountain. Other 
trees may be taller, finer to look at, more exciting to 
climb; but they do not know how to fit themselves to 
the need of the moment as does an apple tree. 
But for anything besides play, the woods, the real 
woods, are even better than the orchard. The truth is, 
in the woods you have such a good time just living, that 
you hardly need to play; at least you do if you are 
made in the right way. 
So now we are off for the woods. We have only to 
cross a field and climb a fence, and we are in the lane 
which leads where we wish to go. 
Through the trees comes a golden light. This is 
made partly by the sunshine, but mostly by the leaves 
turned yellow. These yellow leaves mean that summer 
is over. It is in summer, when we are having our 
vacation, that the leaves work hardest; for leaves have 
work to do, as we shall learn later. But now they are 
taking a rest, and wearing their holiday colors. 
Twisting in and out over the rails of the fence are 
clusters of berries which are very beautiful when you 
look at them closely. Each berry is an orange-colored 
