278 Next to the Ground 



The black-jack is twice a paradox. It 

 grows upon the very richest land fringing 

 about the barrens, which are a sort of glori- 

 fied prairie, yet belying their fatness by its 

 starveling size and scant coarse mast. The 

 leaves are likewise coarse, clumsily lobed, very 

 thick, and so varnished rain sounds upon them 

 almost as on a roof. But when frost comes 

 the tree is transfigured. For six weeks it 

 wears a royal robe, a winding sheet of the 

 richest, the most glowing ruby-red, so royal, 

 so glowing it puts every other red to shame. 



A white oak well situated is never less than 

 beautiful, but most of all in early spring and 

 fall. Before the curls are all down it is full 

 of young leaves, covered all over with silver 

 down. The leaves and their stalks are of 

 the tenderest live-red. The tree shows like a 

 huge knot of bloom upon the face of the 

 greening wood. The young leaves grow 

 magically. By time they are as big as rabbits' 

 ears they begin to pale. Next day they show 

 the most delicate silver-green. The lobes are 

 so finely cut half grown, their shadow at mid- 

 day might serve as a pattern for lace. Even 

 when full grown they are lighter green than 

 those of other oaks. In the fall they turn 

 grayish crimson on the varnished upper sides, 

 clear silver underneath. 



White oak timber is the toughest and most 



