RIVER FOREST 37 



preach in our childhood story-paper long years 

 ago. Spotted adder-tongue she finds too, and red 

 trillium and bird-foot violets. 



Beyond the young woods lies the crowning at- 

 traction of River Forest, the big woods, and 

 presently we come to them, the finest in all the 

 country round; untouched, first-growth timber, 

 preserved by the dear nature-lover who has long 

 owned the land. Here are elms no two of us can 

 span, high and flourishing as any in New England ; 

 tall hickorys, with their swollen buds just waking 

 up and pushing back the covers that have kept 

 them snug and warm through the long winter; and 

 huge gnarled oaks, trees that were never young, 

 their sluggish blood still unstirred by the return- 

 ing sun. They are old and wise and they sleep 

 until all the spring chills and storms are over. 

 But they do not see the young green shoots, or 

 the white hawthorns like great bridal bouquets, or 

 the pink crab-apples that make the woods so 

 dainty today. They do not feel the gentle touch 

 of the blue phlox and the violets and the butter- 

 cups against their hard dark boles, or the caress- 

 ing of the sunbeams that filter through the tree 

 tops. The oaks are old and wise and they will 

 outlive all the rest. But how much of life they 

 are missing! Almost as much as if they were 



